Fallible
by Marstri
Summary: Sorry it has been a while, but chapter 34 is up. Romances for Harry and Remus, but no, not with each other. Started after OotP and more than a bit AU at this point. Reviews welcomed.
1. Arrival at Grimmauld Place

Author's note: With gratitude for J.K. Rowling, who created the wonderful world of Harry Potter and so many intriguing characters for us to play with - strictly for amusement and not for profit. The original characters and the rest are my own, and not to be redistributed.

**May-June, 1996**

Alex collapsed on the ground where she landed, and a moment later the portal slammed shut behind her. Her mind reeling, she tried desperately to sort out enough of what had just happened to figure out what to do. The grass was cool beneath her, and at first it was a blessing because every cell in her body hurt.

_I'm dying._

The thought did not trouble her. It would be a relief to stop fighting.

_This isn't about me. I can't give up._

Breathing hurt.

_Think!_

There was too much in her mind, a chaotic whirlpool of knowledge, images, and memories that were not her own.

_Albus - _

She had to find him.

She was still clutching the wand.

_Apparate.__ I can Apparate._

She couldn't Apparate to Hogwarts. She had to find somewhere safe.

_Grimmauld Place__ - _

With an effort of will, she forced herself to her feet and disappeared.

---------------------

Remus studied Sirius with concern he was shrewd enough not to reveal. Padfoot was drinking more than he should, and Remus knew the enforced confinement and isolation was having its effect. He wished he could visit more often, but Dumbledore had asked him to take on a critical mission for the Order and he had known he had to go. Sirius had known it also, and had tried to be a good sport about it, but Remus had known him too long and too well to be fooled.

"Have another," Sirius offered hospitably as he poured his own, watching with slightly bleary eyes as the liquid filled the glass.

"Not for me, thanks," Remus replied calmly, casting about in his mind for a distraction. "Have you heard –" The loud clanging of the doorbell interrupted him, followed immediately by the screeching of the portrait in the hall.

Sirius knocked the bottle over and swore.

"Expecting anyone?" Remus asked.

"No one comes here if they don't have to. You know that," he told Remus irritably, and somewhat unfairly. With the Fidelius Charm in place, there were very few people it could be.

"I'll see who it is," Remus said evenly as he rose and went to the hall, leaving Sirius swearing and calling for Kreacher. He was still working his way through the many locks on the massive door when the bell sounded again, re-doubling the noise coming from Mrs. Black's portrait.

He finally got the door unlocked and swung it open. A strange woman was swaying on the doorstep as though fighting to remain standing. Remus was quick enough to get an arm about her waist before she fell to the floor. She was almost skeletally thin, and he lifted her easily and pushed the front door shut with his foot.

"Sirius, get in here!" Remus called sharply. She was still semi-conscious and seemed to be trying to say something he couldn't hear over the shrieking in the hall. He strode into the drawing room just as Sirius emerged from the kitchen. He could hear Sirius struggling to silence the portrait as he placed the woman in his arms gently on one of the olive green settees in the drawing room.

A wave of pain racked her, and his arms, which had been withdrawing, tightened instinctively around her. She fought through the pain, and looked at him with fierce determination. Her eyes were a light shade somewhere between blue and green, and burned with intelligence.

"_Albus_," she managed to say, her voice an urgent whisper.

"Who's she?" Sirius demanded from the doorway.

"I don't know," Remus said shortly, his eyes locked with hers. "Get Dumbledore. Now." He was aware of Sirius moving away immediately, and was grateful that his friend had taken action without argument. Her name was only one of the questions he wanted to ask her, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to force her to try to speak.

"We'll get Dumbledore for you," Remus told her, and he read relief in her eyes.

He surveyed her quickly, concealing the depth of his concern. He wasn't a Healer, and she looked like she needed one desperately. A simple Healing Charm should give her a little support until more could be done, and he disengaged one hand to pull out his wand.

"_No!_" she protested, actually reaching up to grasp the wrist of his wand hand with a surprisingly strong grip.

"Just a basic Healing Charm," he reassured her soothingly. "Nothing to worry about." She didn't look reassured.

"Trapped," she explained.

Remus blanched. Who would be monstrous enough to use a Healing Charm to trigger a trap?

"Voldemort," she said, answering the question he hadn't voiced. Her lips twisted slightly as she said the name, and her fingers slipped off his wrist. He set his anger aside and tried to think of another way to help her.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, and read the answer in her eyes. Fueled by his sense of helplessness, the anger he had been repressing automatically started to bubble to the surface and he forced himself to hold it back - something he had a great deal of experience doing. Displaying his temper would accomplish nothing.

He heard Sirius' footsteps in the hall, and looked up to see him enter the room. He was carrying a glass of water, and Remus was thankful he had thought of it.

"Would you like some water?" Remus asked, turning back to the woman on the settee. He slipped his wand back up his sleeve as she nodded and put out his hand for the glass. Sirius, who was now standing beside him, gave it to him immediately and regarded her with interest as Remus helped her to drink a little.

"Dumbledore will be a few minutes, I'm afraid," Sirius said in his raspy voice. Remus shot him a look. "I did tell him it was an emergency," Padfoot added. "I'm sure he's coming as fast as he can."

Remus turned back to the unknown woman, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes before it was replaced by rapid and determined thought. She swallowed some more water, and spoke again in a shaky voice.

"Severus faster?" she asked. Remus felt Sirius stiffen beside him, but when he turned to him Sirius had already pivoted on his heel and strode away. When he turned back to the settee, he could see that she was fighting another wave of pain. He caught her hand in his free one and gripped it tightly, hoping Dumbledore or Snape would make it there in time.

------------------

Severus Snape was just retrieving some Ashwinder eggs from his private stores when the urgent call came in. Shutting the door to the storeroom, he pulled out his medallion and activated it.

"Yes?" The sound of the voice that replied seemed to make his blood congeal.

"You're urgently needed at headquarters. Leader may be too late." It had to be bad if one of his worst enemies was asking him for help.

"On my way," he answered coolly, deactivating the medallion and sweeping out of the storeroom. Umbridge was patrolling at the moment with the help of Draco Malfoy and some of his other Slytherins - Snape's lips curled as he contemplated the level of support she was receiving from the rest of the faculty - so he could use the fireplace in her office. He dealt with her rather feeble security measures contemptuously and stepped into the fire.

He stepped out again in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, where Sirius Black was surveying him with open dislike. Severus could smell what he'd been drinking easily despite the several feet that separated them and did not trouble to hide his disgust.

"Drawing room," Sirius barked. Snape nodded and strode out quickly, catching a glimpse of Dumbledore's robe as he entered the hall. So Dumbledore had made it after all - Sirius was going to be furious at having called him unnecessarily. Snape smiled inwardly and slackened his pace. He was going to enjoy this.

He stepped into the drawing room and had only an instant to realize what was happening. The Headmaster was kneeling beside a settee containing a woman Severus didn't know, but he quickly grasped the state she was in. He wasn't a Healer of course, but he could recognize the signs of someone subjected to prolonged torture. The werewolf was standing slightly to the side, but Snape ignored him.

Then she raised her wand hand to clasp Dumbledore's and her eyes met the Headmaster's as her lips began to move. Light flared around them, and silver tinged with blue washed in misty waves between her head and his, hiding their faces from sight.

_It's possible!_ Excitement surged through Severus Snape as he realized what he had to be witnessing. The direct transfer of memories from mind to mind was something only hinted at in a few ancient texts. It required great mental discipline on both sides. A fair number of wizards could withdraw a single memory from their minds and place it in a Pensieve, but controlling vast waves of unleashed thought was incredibly difficult and highly dangerous to both parties. Unchecked, the flood could sweep away much more than the memories the sender intended; one warning hinted that it was possible to lose yourself, your sanity, your magic, and even your life if you lost control.

It was just as dangerous for the recipient. Once your mind was opened to what was being sent, it was supremely difficult - perhaps impossible - to halt the flow if the sender did not, particularly when you were occupied trying to process the flood of information being received. It was all too easy to become overwhelmed, to drown in the incoming stream of data. Since the invention of Pensieves, this type of direct mental transfer was unheard of, and Severus realized with almost physical pain that he would probably never see this again.

_It could have been me_.

He lusted for this incredible experience that had been denied him, the ultimate test of his mental skill, and mourned its loss. If he'd been a little faster, or if Dumbledore had been a little slower, he would have been the one awash in thought. Could he have handled it? He thought so, but he had missed his only chance to prove it.

The wave of silver stopped.

The Headmaster looked both horrified and overwhelmed, an expression on his face that Severus had never seen before. The woman's expression was quite different; Snape caught a glimpse of relief in her eyes before they closed. Her face was serene as she slumped lifelessly into the settee.

The werewolf reached her first, and Snape was irritated to see that he didn't even have the presence of mind to cast a simple Healing Charm on her.

"She said that Healing Charms were trapped," the wolf said, apparently directing his remarks to the Headmaster. "What can we do?"

Dumbledore was white to the lips, his eyes dazed. "Quite correct," he told them with less than his usual assurance. He looked as though he were not yet fully in command of his faculties. He looked at Severus and said, "You _must_ save her." His voice was in between a plea and a command.

Snape regarded him with some irritation. Of course he wanted to save a witch who could do that! He hadn't even gotten to speak to her yet.

"I would be delighted to do so, but I have no information at this point regarding trapped Healing Charms or how I can be of assistance," he returned precisely. "If there is any information you can share with me, it would behoove you to do so." Was what he lacked in the wave of silver that had flashed between Dumbledore and this witch? Severus wondered what other knowledge she might have given the Headmaster, and struggled to conceal the bolt of jealousy that seared through him.

The Headmaster closed his eyes in concentration. Severus heard the wolf murmur, "Blankets, Sirius," while they waited for the white-haired wizard to speak. When Dumbledore opened his eyes again, he seemed to be more like himself, though still pale and shaken.

"Brew Osler's Basic Draught for the Treatment of Internal Injuries, substituting crushed snake fangs for half the mandrake root and reversing the direction of the stirring in the third and fifth steps. She can be started on Avicenna's Draught thirty minutes after she gets the modified Osler's," he directed clearly.

Severus nodded his acknowledgment and left immediately. Returning to Hogwarts was slightly riskier than leaving had been, but his real concern was whether he could finish the potion in time to leave again before Umbridge returned to her office. As usual, he found the potion making itself rather soothing, a neat methodical process that required only order and precision to produce predictable results. In a rare sign of urgency, however, he did not fully bottle it. He stoppered four doses only, two to take with him and two to keep on hand until he could brew some more, and abandoned the rest of the batch in the interests of time. Umbridge should be close to ending her rounds for the evening. While she was ridiculously easy to manipulate in many ways, he didn't wish to waste time with her.

When he returned to Grimmauld Place, the unknown witch was still lying motionless on the settee, although she was now covered in a layer of blankets. Dumbledore was standing over her, wand extended as he performed a variation on a Vita Charm. Severus studied the extra little fillip of his wand just before the last movement, wondering if that too was to avoid a trap of some kind.

"You brought the modified potion, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired calmly. It wasn't a real question, as he knew that Severus would not have returned without it, and Snape was inwardly embarrassed that the Headmaster had needed to recall his attention as if he were a student. He handed him one of the vials without comment. Much to his disgust, the Headmaster passed it to the wolf to administer.

A few moments after the potion was ingested, Dumbledore was able to discontinue the modified Vita Charm, and Snape made a mental note to ask him about it as soon as he had the opportunity.

To his profound annoyance, he did not get an opportunity that night. Once the witch was started on Avicenna's and transferred to an empty room upstairs with the wolf in attendance, Dumbledore sent him back to Hogwarts, saying that he needed to speak to Sirius.

Rather than say something the Headmaster would reproach him for - even if only with his eyes - he returned to the sanctuary of his dungeon without another word.

------------------

Remus stared down at the restless figure twisting in the sheets and wondered what else he could do for her. Dumbledore had been adamant about not taking her to St. Mungo's, but her injuries were so far beyond Remus' limited healing skills that he couldn't even claim to understand what was wrong with her, much less fix it. She had been given the potions the Headmaster had ordered and Remus had continued to administer them as instructed, but he had his doubts as to whether her condition was improving. At first, she had been utterly still and almost lifeless, which had frightened him more than he had admitted, but now that she _should_ be motionless, having ingested the Potion for Dreamless Sleep, she was not.

"Need anything, Moony?" Sirius growled softly from the doorway. Remus looked down one last time and then rose and walked over to join him.

"I don't know what else to do for her," he confessed in a low voice. "Her injuries should be healing and she should be asleep, but she isn't. If Dumbledore hadn't been so insistent about not taking her to St. Mungo's –" Remus ran a distracted hand through his hair prematurely graying hair.

"What do _you_ think?"

"Padfoot, I'm not a Healer, I –" Sirius reached over and clasped his shoulder.

"Moony, you have better instincts about people than anyone I've ever met," his friend told him very firmly. "Trust them."

Remus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks," he told Sirius shakily. His old friend smiled at him with a hint of that mischievous grin from their youth.

"Need a break?"

Lupin looked back into the bedroom and shook his head. "Not just yet, but I wouldn't mind a sandwich the next time you're in the kitchen."

Sirius' words fortified Remus even more than the roast beef sandwich over the next several hours. Obeying his instincts rather than Dumbledore's latest instructions, he did not administer the next dose of the Potion for Dreamless Sleep, and she started to come closer to waking in the early hours of the morning.

Remus had been half dozing in his chair when the sound of her voice roused him, although he couldn't make out any words. He leaned closer.

"You're safe," he told her very gently. Her eyes flickered open a little before closing again. She was frowning slightly, and this time he understood her when she spoke.

"Sirius," she mumbled. Icy water trickled down his spine. Was she one of the many who though his oldest friend was a murderer?

"No one is going to hurt you here," he told her calmly. "You're quite safe now."

"No –" Her eyes opened more fully this time, and she looked directly at him. Remus felt as though he were caught in that piercing blue-green gaze. "He's alive?"

"What?" Remus asked, taken aback.

"_Was he killed?"_

There was an appreciable pause.

"No," he told her simply. Her eyes traveled warily to his. Obeying an impulse he only imperfectly understood, he reached out to take her hand. It felt right to have it clasped in his, and he thought she relaxed in response to his touch.

"Sure?" Her voice was fading now.

"I wouldn't lie about this," he assured her. "Will you trust me?" After a moment's hesitation, he read acceptance in her eyes before they closed again. Her hand fell slack in his, and he gently set it down. This time, she seemed to be really asleep, with none of the restless attempts to stir that had marked even her potion-induced sleep before.

It was several moments before he realized Sirius was awake and standing in the doorway, watching Remus watch her. Remus looked up and gestured to the hall, following Sirius out and closing the door behind them.

"Are you sure you don't know her?" Remus asked. Sirius shook his head.

"Never so much as laid eyes on her in my life," Sirius said flatly.

"She seems quite keen to be sure you're alive for a stranger." Her concern seemed somewhat out of place, and it troubled him.

"Yes, but then these days it seems that _everyone_ is awfully anxious to keep me alive," Sirius returned grimly, his mouth twisting, "from Molly Weasley to Dumbledore. He gave me _another_ lecture about staying safely inside, did I tell you?" Remus knew how hard it was for Sirius to stay confined to Grimmauld Place, and tried to think of something he could say. This must have shown on his face, for his friend suddenly looked at him and tried to smile.

"Don't _worry_ so, Moony, you'll turn old before your time," he teased gruffly. "I'm fine and this - well, it's probably Harry. It's no secret that I'm his godfather, and the other members of the Order know I'm not what I appear to be to the Ministry. Sick people get odd notions in their heads all the time, but you seem to have managed to calm her down. I told you you've got a talent for this." Remus smiled back rather half-heartedly and let it go.


	2. Alex Awake

Alex woke up slowly in the unfamiliar bed feeling as though she'd been asleep for years. _You'd think I'd be over the jet lag after a week_, she mused groggily, repositioning her pillow slightly with one hand without opening her eyes. It was probably the nightmares - a lot of _really_ crazy stuff, but then that was to be expected with the news lately. Dreams were supposed to be a way of making sense of things, and hers had certainly provided an explanation, albeit a bizarre and terrible one. Any explanation for what had happened would have to be pretty horrific. She wondered when she would be able to leave. All of her meetings were canceled of course, and she wasn't exactly thrilled about the long flight, but she really wanted to be home right now. Phone calls weren't the same as being there.

She heard the faint chink of china and wondered if room service was bringing her more of that blasted British tea. All she really wanted was a large glass of ice with a little soda in it. The last time she'd asked for ice they'd brought her about three cubes of it. Every hotel room had its own tea service but she still hadn't found a decent ice-maker. She opened her eyes reluctantly and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Normally she enjoyed traveling, but right now all the little things that were usually so minor seemed like glaring reminders of just how far from home she was. It hadn't seemed like a long distance until -

"How are you feeling?" a voice asked. Alex turned to look at the source, screamed, and shot up.

Remus flinched.

"I - ohmigod - I -" Alex pressed her hand over her mouth and tried to collect herself. "I'm sorry - I didn't - I thought you were a nightmare -" The room had started spinning and she broke off and closed her eyes to steady herself.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Remus told her quietly. Alex told herself that she was behaving like an idiot and took a couple slow, deep breaths.

"It's not your fault," she said with artificial calm. "I was just disoriented when I woke up. I thought –" She couldn't tell him what she thought. "I'm sorry, it had nothing to do with you." Keeping her head was practically her entire job description and she had totally lost it and screamed like a schoolgirl. "Am I at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes," Remus confirmed, "you've been here a little over a week." He hesitated. "If you'll forgive me, you're still rather pale. Would you like to lie down, or -"

"I'm fine," Alex declared automatically. Then, because there was something about the way he looked at her that made lying very difficult, she qualified it. "Relatively speaking." She propped the pillow up against the headboard and shifted herself further up the bed so she could lean against it, which she did gratefully. She hadn't felt this ill when she was still lying down, but the effort of suddenly sitting up and her minor exertions afterwards had tired her already. "Is Albus around?"

Remus shook his head. "He stopped by earlier, but he's left already." Footsteps pounded down the hall and Sirius galloped into the room, wand in hand. He looked at Remus inquiringly, but it was Alex who answered.

"I'm afraid I'm the one who screamed. There's nothing wrong, I was just surprised there was someone else in the room when I woke up. I'm very sorry if I disturbed you."

Sirius shrugged and put his wand away with a lopsided smile. "No harm done. For a moment I thought we might have a little excitement to break up the monotony." Then, with a sharp look at her that made her inwardly tense, he extended his hand. "I'm Sirius Black. And you are?"

"Please call me Alex," she told, smiling as she returned the courtesy and wondered just what Albus had told them. _It's just like a negotiation,_ she told herself firmly, _where you don't have the information you need. All you have to do is avoid committing to anything until you get it. _

"Have we met before?" Sirius asked.

"I don't think so, but of course I know of you through Albus," she parried smoothly, before turning to Remus, "and you as well, if you're Remus Lupin?"

"How do you do?"

As Remus took her hand, Alex felt an odd jolt of recognition that had nothing to do with the information in her brain. There was something about his touch - she disengaged her hand at the proper time and smiled again, hoping they couldn't tell how worried she was.

"I'm afraid I've been a great deal of trouble for you, but I really appreciate your kindness in taking care of me." Alex included both men in this with her eyes, but Sirius was the one who responded.

"No trouble at all. Your arrival livened things up a bit," the dark-haired man was now twirling his wand idly between his fingers. "Relieved the monotony. And you can thank Remus for the nursing - he's much better at it than me," he said with genuine affection and a warm glance at his friend. Any minute now they were going to start asking her questions, and Alex tried to think of how to get rid of them for a while - preferably until after she could talk to Albus, which she couldn't do without a wand. She wasn't sure she could figure out how to do it with a wand either, but there was a chance that she could if she could just make them go away so she could _think_ for a few minutes.

"Did I bring a wand with me when I –" Remus nodded toward the nightstand, where that _thing_ was laying. "Oh, good." Now all she had to do was get them to leave her alone.

"The clothes you were wearing have been cleaned, of course, but –" Remus' words gave her an idea.

"I wasn't that attached to them, and I expect they were in rags anyway, but never mind them. What I would really love is a nice long bath, if it wouldn't be too much of an imposition." They couldn't expect to talk to her there.

Sirius seemed to think this was perfectly normal. "I'll have Kreacher get one started for you and see what we can come up with in the way of clean robes. With all the trunks in this mausoleum, there's got to be something that will do. And I'd better let Dumbledore know you're awake." He padded off after he said this, but Remus was frowning at her.

"Perhaps you might want to wait a bit on the bath and take it easy for a while. You've been very ill, you know, and you've only just woken up," he said. Alex admitted to herself that he was probably right, but staying here left her open to visitors. Sirius had just inadvertently solved one of her problems - contacting Albus - but she still needed to stall until she could speak with him.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she replied calmly. His frown deepened.

"Alex, I'm not sure you'll even be able to walk as far as the bathroom," Remus told her frankly.

"Then I'll Apparate," she said firmly, meeting his eyes to let him know she was not going to back down on this. She could see his concern, but she couldn't afford to yield to it.

"If you're sure –" His reluctance was obvious. "I'll see how that bath is coming."

As his footsteps faded away, Alex forced herself to pick up the wand. As her fingers closed around it, she felt a faint trickle of unpleasant sensation, but she held on to it with determination, and the nastiness faded away.

Alex did Apparate to the bathroom, although it occurred to her after she did that walking might have been safer, even if it was slower and required more energy. Coming so close to death lately seemed to have made her reckless. Once safely alone inside the bathroom she decided she might as well take a bath only to be unpleasantly surprised by how exhausting it was. Raising her arms to scrub her hair left them shaking, and all the up and down in the tub to wet her hair and rinse it was an ordeal. Her body felt oddly as if it belonged to someone else - she hadn't been this thin even in high school - but also as if it were betraying her.

Sirius knocked on the door as she was laboriously drying herself with a towel to tell her that Albus was in the drawing room. Unwilling to risk going down the stairs and belatedly nervous about all this Apparition business, she had called out to him to ask Albus if he would come up. The odd silence before he agreed to do so reminded her how very strange that probably looked, but then it was too late to take it back. Sirius had found her a long green robe that _had_ to be respectable - it certainly covered everything up - and the bathroom was quite large enough to meet in even if it was a bit irregular. All in all, Alex decided as she shakily unlocked the door, they were just going to have to deal with it.

"There you are, my dear," Albus greeted her. She hadn't paid much attention before, but his hair and beard were really very long now. "How are you feeling?" He peered at her very attentively as he asked this, but Sirius, who had shown him up, was just behind him and Alex wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm reminding myself that consciousness is supposed to be an improvement," she returned lightly. "I've been wanting to speak with you, but I'm afraid I forgot to provide for chairs," she said wryly, opening the door wider and stepping back to admit him.

"No problem, my dear," he said, producing two comfortable blue chairs out of thin air. One of them positioned itself directly behind her, so that all she had to do was bend her knees to sink into it, which she did immediately. "I've been wanting to speak with you as well. If Sirius will excuse us," he added, nodding kindly before shutting the bathroom door firmly in the face of his host.

------------------

Sirius strolled into the kitchen, where Remus glanced up at him from the sandwich he was making.

"They're in the _bathroom_," he reported, throwing himself into a chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "Dumbledore made it clear that I was not invited. Any idea what the hell is going on?"

Remus carried his sandwich over and sat down to join him. "More questions than answers," he admitted before taking a bite. "I think we'd have heard something closer to the truth if they weren't upstairs comparing notes." Sirius snorted.

"My own house - though I'd be happy enough to be rid of it - and I'm still kept right out of it. Safe from everything but boredom," he said sardonically. Sirius stood up abruptly, shoved his hands in his pockets and started pacing.

"When you're done sulking, let me know," Remus told him thoughtfully, "I want to borrow your brain." Sirius turned to look at him and opened his mouth to retort, but something about his friend's expression stopped him. Instead he grabbed another chair, spun it around, straddled it, and propped his head on his arms facing Remus expectantly.

"I need you to check me on something," Remus told him. "Did anything strike you as unusual earlier?"

"When?"

"When Alex woke up."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "We barely got through the introductions, how unusual could it be?"

"Sirius, please."

"All right, all right." Sirius closed his eyes and seemed to be really trying to think through the very brief encounter. "Smiled too much," he said at last, "distracting with charm. Should have seen that. Done it myself." His old, mischievous grin flashed briefly.

"Anything else?"

There was another silence. "Did she trust us?" Sirius murmured to himself, frowning.

"Why do you say that?" Remus asked immediately. Sirius opened his eyes and looked directly at Remus.

"She didn't pick up her wand right away," he said. "Left it on the table."

"Would you have done that?"

Sirius snorted. "Me? I only set it down when I'm sleeping somewhere safe, and even then I keep it pretty damn close. Always on me when I'm awake."

"That's what I thought."

Sirius was regarding him with interest. "What do you suppose it means?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Remus admitted.

Dumbledore was upstairs with Alex for quite some time, but Remus and Sirius were still in the kitchen when he came down.

"Good evening," he greeted them, "I'm glad to find both of you here."

"Where were you expecting to find me?" Sirius asked sarcastically. The Headmaster ignored this.

"I wanted to impress upon you again the importance -"

"Of staying safely inside Grimmauld Place and not taking foolish and unnecessary chances by setting as much as a toe - or a paw - out of doors," Sirius cut him off brusquely. "Got it."

Dumbledore regarded him sternly over his half-moon glasses. "Of keeping Alex's presence here secret even from the other members of the Order," he finished deliberately. Sirius continued to look resentful. "Except for Severus, of course. Alex has consented to remain here for the time being to convalesce, although other arrangements will be made as she regains a bit more of her strength."

The Headmaster looked at each of them in turn, very gravely. "I hope that you will assist me in making her stay here as _untroubled_ as possible under the circumstances. Alex has been through a great deal, and it would be best if she were allowed to forget about it for a while and simply concentrate on recovering her health. If you need me, you know how to reach me."

--------------

Remus found Alex in the upper hall halfway back to her bedroom, pausing to rest as she braced herself against the wall. With an inarticulate noise, he hurried forward to slip an arm around her for support.

"Why didn't Dumbledore see you safely back to your room?" It wasn't like him at all. Colorless, Alex managed a wry smile.

"It's really not his fault," she said fairly, "it's mine. I guess I was a little overambitious for my first day up, and I didn't want him to see that." A little of what Remus was thinking must have slipped into his eyes.

"You can't expect me to admit to that kind of weakness in the middle of an argument," Alex pointed out reasonably, even though he hadn't spoken. "It would have been either a very underhanded way to win on my part, or it would have given him an excellent excuse to leave before anything was settled." With Remus' support, she was making her way slowly back to her room.

"Why were you arguing with Dumbledore?" he asked in surprise, regretting it immediately as a veil fell behind her eyes.

"You don't approve of arguments? I hear they happen in the best of relationships," she parried lightly. "But I am sorry to have to impose on you like this."

"Giving me an excuse to put my arm around you is anything but an imposition," he replied unthinkingly, and was rewarded with a smile that held genuine amusement.

_Where did that come from? That's the sort of thing Sirius would say!_

Even though he didn't appear to have offended her, he quickly sought another topic of conversation. "You haven't had any breakfast yet," he realized aloud, "and it's the middle of the afternoon." They had reached the bedroom, where Alex silently rejected the idea of returning to bed and seated herself on a spare chaise lounge in the cavernous room.

"I may even be desperate enough to manage _tea_," she told him with a comically expressive face.

"Not a fan of our national drink?" he surmised.

"Going to hold it against me?" Although her tone was still casual, the better light where she was seated allowed him to see the faint tightness around her eyes that revealed the strain she was under. He captured the spare blanket from the end of the bed and carried it over to her. Just because she wouldn't go back to bed didn't mean she couldn't doze a little.

"Somehow, I don't think it will be an insurmountable problem," he told her as he handed it to her. He had intended to maintain the slightly playful tone of their conversation, but the words had emerged from his throat with a husky gravity he hadn't planned. He was suddenly aware of how close she was. He swallowed hard and stepped back.

"I shouldn't be very long," Remus said evenly before retreating from the room.

------------------------

Between the two of them, Remus and Sirius managed to scrounge up a light meal that was respectable if uninspired. By common consent, they decided to join Alex rather than taking her a tray. Although she was alert and awake when they entered the room followed by a small assortment of serving dishes, Remus thought she looked a little better. He strongly suspected she had taken a short nap while he was downstairs, but wisely did not mention his suspicion.

Sirius unknowingly reinforced Remus' earlier thought by displaying the bantering charm he remembered from their youth. Alex dealt with it deftly and in kind, apparently enjoying herself without showing any signs of taking him seriously. Remus spoke enough to avoid seeming withdrawn as he observed them, rather pleased with how things were going. Sirius had been much too somber lately, and it was good to see his playful side emerge. By the time they had finished eating, Alex had recovered a little color and seemed slightly more relaxed. He suspected that this was due in part to the fact that neither he nor Sirius had tried to question her - Dumbledore's request that they make her visit as 'untroubled' as possible was still echoing in their ears - and they excused themselves directly after the meal to allow her to get some more sleep.

In the ensuing days, Alex continued to insist on rising, bathing, and dressing every day, but she spent most of the day on the chaise lounge. Although she was outwardly in good spirits, Remus' instincts told him that she found her semi-invalid state more irritating than she let on. He did what he could unobtrusively, trying to find the right balance between keeping her from boredom and from exhaustion.

This task was made more difficult by the fact that Alex seemed to be supporting Dumbledore's efforts to minimize the availability of any information about her. When the Headmaster had spoken to them the day she woke up, Remus had registered the fact that only the three of them - Sirius, Severus, and himself - were supposed to know that she was there. He came to realize later that they were not supposed to know anything more than that.

Even what he thought was an innocuous question about her taste in fiction – the other members of the Order were arriving for a lengthy meeting and Remus had offered to fetch her something to read while she was confined to her room - seemed to be one she could not - or would not - answer. He thought for a moment that she was going to reply honestly - her eyes met his and he felt that odd jolt again - but even as her lips parted to speak something held her back. She masked her eyes and smiled as she told him, "Surprise me," in a playful tone instead.

That moment stayed with him for the rest of the day. While Alex was hidden away upstairs - presumably reading the novel he had selected for her - Remus sat through the meeting struggling to conceal the fact that only part of his attention was focused on the business of the Order. Most of his mind was occupied trying to figure out what was really going on. One moment, Remus would be _sure_ that Alex wanted to talk to him too, that she was as frustrated as he was with whatever the barrier was between them. An instant later he would berate himself for imagining things - there was _nothing_ to support this persistent idea that she felt this connection between them and wished to explore it as he did. The 'obstacle' he convinced himself that he sensed between them was probably nothing more than her lack of interest in getting to know him any further. This conclusion was a painful one.

When the meeting was over, he mounted the stairs as he usually did and felt his stomach clench as he approached her door. He wanted to stop by her room for a moment, just to reassure himself that she was well and say goodnight, but he decided it would be wiser not to and passed it in silence.


	3. Interludes in June

The following morning, her door was open as he passed on his way down to join Sirius and help with breakfast. _It would be rude to simply ignore her just to protect myself,_ he reasoned, turning abruptly to tap on her open door to announce his presence. Alex was already dressed and sitting on the chaise. When she looked up in response to his knock, her eyes met his and she smiled. Remus felt it sear through him, every cell in his body humming with awareness. _Control yourself,_ he ordered harshly.

"Good morning," he greeted her, smiling politely in return and hoping he was concealing the effect she had on him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you."

Remus spotted the novel on the table. It was one of his favorites, although he was hardly the only one who could say that. It had been very popular when it first came out and was still well regarded years later. "How are you doing with _Conatum_?" Her smile deepened.

"It was wonderful! I especially liked the way the author recreated the entire story in the final battle scene," she told him with genuine enthusiasm.

"You noticed that?" he asked, off-balance and feeling rather stupid. He hadn't expected her to have finished it so quickly, much less to have picked up on any of the subtler symbolism. James and Sirius had liked the story as well, but their thoughts on the final battle had centered on the action apparent on the surface. They had even had an argument over whether it was possible for the fight to have occurred as the author described, ending up in the infirmary when they tried to settle the question by re-enacting the duel between the hero and the villain themselves. Occupied with his thoughts, Remus was unaware that he had moved out of the doorway and further into the room.

Alex blinked. "Well, it was pretty obvious. Compotor was killed only a little bit before that, so when the hero took the sword strike to his right arm just before the climax of the battle, it was clear what the author was doing." She adjusted her position automatically on the chaise to allow Remus to seat himself next to her as she finished speaking.

"What did you think of the tavern scene?" he asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Utterly absorbed in the ensuing conversation, Remus was unaware that Sirius stopped by a few minutes later. Nor did Remus have any idea that Sirius, about to speak, quickly took in the way his long-time friend seemed to be lit from within as he sat next to Alex engaged in a rapid, low-voiced conversation, their positions mirroring each other - knees not quite touching - and headed downstairs to prepare breakfast alone. Remus only remembered that he was supposed to be helping Sirius with breakfast when their host actually entered the room some time later.

"Sirius, I –" Remus broke off guiltily as he caught sight of the serving dishes. "You've already made breakfast? I was supposed to help you, why didn't you come and get me?" Sirius directed the dishes to the appropriate side tables and deftly re-positioned the one they used as a dining table.

"No problem," he replied, deliberately ignoring the question, "I enjoyed it. But you're not allowed to complain about the bacon." Sirius grinned companionably at Alex, explaining, "He says I don't cook it enough," as they settled down to their meal.

----------------

As Alex had finished _Conatum_ so quickly, Remus selected another novel for her and was less surprised at how quickly she had completed it. It was only natural to discuss it a little afterwards. Remus told himself he was only trying to get a better sense of her tastes so that he could select appropriate reading material for her – a rationalization which completely ignored both his own pleasure in their conversations and the fact that the books he offered her were the ones of which he was particularly fond himself.

She seemed to devour anything he gave her to read, and her opinions about what she read fascinated him. She had a knack for absorbing the several layers of meaning present in many of the better-written works in a single reading, and her analysis was consistently insightful. Their conversations quickly became high points of his days, and he was always disappointed when he would begin to notice the subtler signs that Alex was beginning to tire. She was still rather fragile physically, and he was conscious of the need to protect her.

He was not conscious that his oldest friend was watching all of this with great interest, noting that Remus was offering Alex his dearest treasures and delighting in her response to them.

Happily oblivious to this observation, it took Remus quite some time to realize that there was a subtle difference in the way Sirius was interacting with Alex. The tone of his banter was less flirtatious and more like the teasing Remus remembered within the group of four friends during their school days. Sirius also seemed to be paying more attention to her, although Remus doubted any other observer would have picked up on the change. Sirius' manner hardly altered, but Remus was instinctively aware that his friend was listening to Alex speak as though intent on extracting as much information about her as possible. This continued even when the topic at dinner one evening drifted into another discussion of books, and Remus noted with a sense of shock that Sirius was listening to Alex's opinion with genuine interest.

That was the moment Remus realized that something significant was going on. Sirius was fundamentally a creature of action, and reading was hardly his first choice of recreational activities. His typical behavior would have been to use a joke to redirect the conversation away from a topic that bored him - but Sirius was not bored. Remus was wondering why not, when an answer occurred to him that froze the blood in his veins.

"Are you - is everything all right?" Alex asked hesitantly. Her voice seemed to come from very far away, and Remus was jolted back to awareness that she and Sirius were both regarding him with concern. _You're imagining things, snap out of it!_

"Fine," he lied automatically, "I was just thinking that I need to get started on the dishes if I want to get to bed early." He rose to excuse himself and saw Sirius get to his feet as well. "I can take care of them tonight, you don't need to get up," he added quickly, his own unspoken penitence.

"Don't be silly, Moony," Sirius retorted affectionately. "Dishes are no fun without the spoon race!"

------------------------

Severus returned to the meeting room of the Order reluctantly. He disliked being at Grimmauld Place, which partially accounted for his eagerness to depart earlier and his inadvertent failure to take with him the one piece of parchment he would actually need in the interval between now and the next meeting. His preoccupation with what the Headmaster had said - and not said - during the meeting had also contributed.

The Headmaster had finally raised a topic which was probably long overdue - namely succession planning, or the question of who would take charge in the event that anything happened to Dumbledore himself. While some members of the Order had protested briefly against the possibility that this could happen, the reality was that it could. If it did, the remaining members of the Order would need to know whom to look to for leadership and direction. Having raised the issue, the Headmaster had invited input, but had not announced a decision as to who would be second in command.

Severus wanted it to be him.

He knew he would never win any popularity contests, but he would match his knowledge of the Dark Lord and the Dark Arts against that of any other candidate. Surely the Headmaster understood that in such an important matter skill and ability was far more important than all this business of worrying about _people_ and _feelings_.

Yet, there was a niggling doubt in his mind about what the Headmaster really thought of him. He had known nothing of the woman who had appeared here so suddenly some weeks earlier - not even that she existed - and now that he had seen her, Dumbledore still showed no signs of enlightening him. For all that the Headmaster appeared to trust him, sometimes Severus wondered just how deep that trust really went - a concern that persisted as he watched the parade of people moving in and out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post that he wanted so badly himself.

As he drew nearer to his destination, the sound of laughter rang out and his lips tightened. Once again he felt that queer, searing ache he remembered from his youth, and his footsteps began to slow.

"Padfoot, you prat!" The wolf's voice held more affection than exasperation. Sirius only laughed in response, a deep, chuckling growl that pierced their unknown listener. There was a swish and the slap of fabric, leading Severus to conclude that the wolf had thrown something - a towel? - at his friend. Then another chuckle, footsteps, and the chink of china.

"So," Sirius said conversationally and yet with an odd air of significance, "second, huh?" There was a noticeable silence, and Severus strained to hear what was said. If Dumbledore had chosen that -

"I - congratulations." There was a taut quality unlike anything Severus had ever heard in the wolf's voice before, followed by a tiny splash that was somehow louder than it should have been.

"Not - Moony, I didn't mean –" Sirius sounded shocked.

"You're not –" The wolf's voice had an edge of imperfectly controlled emotion.

"Don't be a _bloody_ idiot!" Severus heard a chair grate harshly against the floor and gathered that one of them had sat down in it rather abruptly. "Moony, how could you possibly think –"

"Damn it, Sirius, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" the wolf protested.

"Sorry, mate." Severus could hear real contrition in Sirius' voice as he spoke - something that had never been present when he spoke to Severus. "I just -" he broke off and sighed a little apologetically. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, but I thought - well - if you wanted to talk about it –" His voice had gentled as he spoke, and Severus unconsciously edged closer.

"I'm afraid there's really nothing to talk about." At this point, Severus could even hear Sirius clapping his friend on the back in sympathy. That strange ache was back again.

"It's early days yet," Sirius assured the wolf, his raspy voice comforting, "and the present circumstances may not be the best but - give it some time."

"Some of those 'circumstances' aren't going to change."

"Don't go looking for problems where there aren't any," Sirius advised roughly. "We've quite enough real ones without your imagining them." Severus realized that he was now only an inch or two from being within sight of the two friends within, and somehow, he didn't think he wanted to go in there just now and hear Sirius abuse him, see the sympathy in the wolf's eyes -

Pulling out his wand, he breathed, "_Accio parchment_," very softly. It slipped around the corner to him, hovering just a few inches above the floor, well out of sight unless you were looking for it. Severus tucked it neatly into a pocket of his robe and slid silently away.

------------------------

Alex wished Albus would come back quickly. She knew it was dangerous to try to contact him herself just now with the Ministry looking for him, and so refrained. Sirius or Remus could have done it more safely, but Albus didn't want her bringing them into it. Admittedly, speaking to Albus wasn't really _necessary_, but she still wanted to talk to him. Their last conversation – their only conversation – had been wildly unsatisfactory. She had agreed to accede to his wishes for the moment, but she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with that decision. Her living situation, confined here with Remus and Sirius, wasn't helping.

It wasn't the physical environment that was the problem. Grimmauld Place was hardly the Hilton, but it was still an improvement over her previous accommodations. The problem was in trying to comply with all of Albus' restrictions when she had so little information. Until Remus had started bringing her books, she'd been walking a conversational tightrope almost every moment in their presence. So far she'd managed to avoid lying in the strictest sense of the word, but that was a fairly pitiful accomplishment.

On the other hand, maybe it was better this way in that it was stopping her from making a total fool of herself. Remus was a good person, and a kind man, who probably had no idea of the effect he was having on her.

She just felt so _connected_ to him – a feeling that was completely unexpected and should not have been. Alex was well aware that it was not uncommon for people in difficult situations to misinterpret their own feelings of gratitude toward people who had helped them – medical personnel, law enforcement, emergency workers – as something entirely different. Remus had not really 'rescued' her, but Sirius had said that Remus had been taking care of her. That probably explained why she had overreacted to the simple clasp of his hand. And when he looked at her –

_Stop thinking about him like that,_ she ordered herself. The poor man would probably be terribly embarrassed if he had any idea of her reaction to his presence. He hadn't done a thing to indicate the slightest interest in her. It was hardly his fault she found him so attractive.

The whole situation was difficult to say the least, but all she could do was make the best of it – and wait for Albus to act.

-----------------

Alex woke unexpectedly in the early hours of the morning with that alert uneasiness that sometimes results from being startled awake. She sat up abruptly in bed, listening intently, but if it was a sound that had woken her, it was gone. After a short internal debate - a small group of members of the Order had been meeting at Grimmauld Place that night and she was supposed to stay out of sight until Sirius or Remus told her it was safe - she decided to risk it and slipped out of bed.

The house was quiet as she headed downstairs as silently as she could, wishing she had some slippers as she moved down the staircase at a prudent pace. She had only started walking up and down the stairs a few days ago. The need to conceal herself from the members of the Order who were in and out of the house was a convenient excuse to avoid the stairs, but the truth was that they still tired her. She had put off trying them until she was fairly certain she wouldn't need to take a nap as soon as she made it to the ground floor.

A faint rustle of paper was coming from the kitchen, which was often used as the meeting room, but Alex couldn't hear any voices. With a mental wince, she realized that she had left the wand upstairs somewhere. She knelt down to be less likely to be seen as she peered around the doorway.

She straightened up with a sigh of relief.

"Do I even want to ask what you're doing, or shall I just be impressed that you managed to wake me up?"

Startled, Severus whipped out his wand has he turned to face her, his body taut with tension and a bundle of loose parchment thrust behind him in his other hand. Alex's blue-green eyes met his hard black ones. She raised an eyebrow.

"I thought it - prudent - to make sure there was nothing left here under the circumstances," Severus told her. There was a foreign note in his usually precise intonations, as though he were having difficulty speaking. Alex felt as though a spear of ice had pierced her, a feeling which had nothing to do with her lack of slippers. Severus returned to his hasty review of the material he was clutching. Alex slipped into her negotiating face.

"The circumstances?" she inquired casually.

"Black's death at the Ministry tonight," he replied stiffly, frowning at a drawing with apparent concentration before vanishing it.

"Ah," Alex said, with the nonchalant air of someone who has been enlightened on a minor point. "Do you need anything, or can I go back to bed?"

"Nothing, thank you," he told her dismissively.

Alex nodded and headed back toward the stairs, keeping up appearances until she was safely in her room and had shut the door behind her.

Other than the icy fury that consumed her when she heard the news, her other emotions centered on Remus. She knew what this loss would mean to him – if only she could help him in some way. But she lacked that power, and, anyway, he wouldn't want anything from her if he knew the truth. She resolutely buried those emotions and focused on the righteous anger that was giving her the strength to keep moving. Using the energy of that rage to fuel her efforts, she was ready to leave Grimmauld Place the instant Severus was out of sight.

---------------------

Remus dragged himself back to Grimmauld Place, feeling only cold and numb. The first rays of the sun were showing themselves as he approached the house, and he acknowledged with mild surprise that for the first time in his life he hated the sight of the sun. The tiny flare of emotion was fleeting, however, and it was soon displaced by the thick, insulating fog that blanketed all feeling.

The images of what had occurred replayed themselves endlessly in one part of his mind, but the knowledge lacked real _comprehension_. There had been a moment just as it happened when he had truly understood this loss - felt its essence in every cell in his body - but then he was separated from that feeling, a bystander watching events unfold with a detachment that allowed him to continue to function, to stop Harry when -

His hand on the door, he shuddered. At least Harry wasn't - but, oh, god, _Harry_ - He wrenched the door open and stepped inside. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and came to a bewildered stop.

Surely he was supposed to be doing something? What was he supposed to do? Obviously there were things that had to be done. He should do them.

He just had to figure out what they were.

Remus had no idea how long he stood there before he finally forced himself to move. It had eventually penetrated his consciousness that his inability to decide what to do might be a sign that he was in no condition to do anything of significance. He should rest.

_Buckbeak._ _Check on Buckbeak first._ He started up the stairs. His route took him past Alex's bedroom, and he hesitated outside the closed door. He suddenly wanted to see her quite desperately - just to be with her, to - _Stop__ it! You can't burden her with this._

It didn't occur to him that she might not be there until much later.

---------------------

Severus responded to the summons and reported to the Headmaster's office, pleased that Dumbledore was back where he should be. He was a little taken aback to see the wolf already there - looking even worse than usual as well as slightly bewildered - but one couldn't have everything.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Severus. When was the last time you saw Alex?"

"Last night," he replied immediately, his curiosity piqued, "or rather this morning. When I went by to make sure nothing had been left out in the meeting room." The Headmaster sank into his chair.

"And I suppose you told her about Sirius," he said, almost as if speaking to himself and indifferent to Severus' nod. The Headmaster's eyes closed and his forehead creased as he fell silent. The wolf was the one who broke it.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand -" he began.

The Headmaster opened his eyes and leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"I've mishandled this rather badly," he told them with regret, "and in more ways than one, I'm afraid." He sighed, and Severus thought that Dumbledore looked older and more weary than usual before he faced them with painful resolve. "I've kept too much to myself - information and responsibility. That needs to change, and it will start here and now. I'm going to tell both of you the truth about Alex - who she is, why she was here, and - why she left."


	4. When Albus Met Alex

The Headmaster rose and went to retrieve his Pensieve. Putting his wand to his temple, he drew out a fine silver strand of memory. It was very long, and he had to loop it about his wand as he drew it out and added it to the Pensieve. Then he slipped his wand up his sleeve and extended his right hand to Remus and his left hand to Severus. Together, they went in.

Dumbledore released their hands after they arrived, and Severus looked around with interest. They were standing on a street in a Muggle city, sometime in the fall if he had to guess.

"These are some of the memories Alex gave me that first night. She included a few of her own to explain to me what had happened," the headmaster told him calmly. "Watch Alex," he suggested, pointing to a woman in a gray Muggle suit.

Severus might not have recognized her as the same woman. He had seen Alex only when she was emaciated and very badly injured. He knew it was not her usual appearance, but he hadn't expected such a drastic change.

Alex was remarkably normal looking, although the word 'normal' seemed somehow inept. She had put on weight - or rather, had not yet lost it - and the difference was dramatic. She hadn't been overweight before, merely healthy, but it was hard to reconcile the two images. Her face was filled out rather than sunken, and she was walking smoothly and easily on the uneven stone walkway, even in moderately-heeled pumps. She wore a Muggle skirted business suit in conservative gray, and was walking along automatically as she read the newspaper in total absorption.

"The date -" Dumbledore prompted as she was about to pass by. The wolf couldn't see from his vantage point and looked over at Severus, who had stood some distance away and was thus on her other side as she passed.

"Fifteen September, 2001," Severus enunciated clearly. "More than five years in the future," he added unnecessarily. The fact that Alex had been involved in time travel, which was highly dangerous and rarely sanctioned even for much shorter journeys, explained a great deal, although it did not explain what she was doing in this specific memory.

"Voldemort had killed Harry Potter less than a week before." Dumbledore seemed to be deliberately holding himself still, his face carefully expressionless. Only his eyes betrayed his emotions.

"Are you saying -" the wolf asked carefully.

"That we lost? Yes, I'm afraid we did, in a way."

The scene looked perfectly ordinary until Death Eaters started Apparating around the perimeter. They were not wearing masks, and this was somehow more terrifying than the masks had ever been. The Death Eaters no longer needed to bother to hide their identities.

Severus scanned the faces quickly. Some he didn't recognize, but he noted the ones he did - Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Nott, Fudge -

"_Cornelius Fudge_!" the wolf exclaimed aloud, shocked.

"I had my suspicions," Dumbledore responded sadly, "but they were no more than that. Not all those who shared Fudge's views regarding the superiority of pure-blood wizards were followers of Voldemort."

The Dark Lord himself Apparated on to the edge of the fountain central to the park, surveying the afternoon crowd with the amused condescension of a god.

"Well, well," he said softly, and his eyes roamed the crowd, pausing occasionally for a moment - once on an earnest young family man obviously accompanying his wife and child on an outing, once on a superior looking business man who reminded Severus of one of the Potter boy's Muggle relations, once on Alex who was still absorbed in her newspaper and apparently oblivious to his presence.

"My new - subjects," he sneered, and a Death Eater next to him with a round, pasty face snickered. The sound drew attention, and people began to stop to look at the strangely robed group now encircling them.

"Not much, I admit, but - if you rule the world, you must rule the _small_ things in it as well as the great ones," Voldemort was saying.

The Muggle-suited Alex had looked up and caught sight of him. Her expression did not change much - she appeared quite calm, although perhaps more alert - but Severus thought she had realized that she was in danger, unlike many of the other pedestrians who were casually commenting on the strange group in dark robes. Her pace did not change at all; she simply folded her newspaper up as though she happened to finish reading it at that moment and kept walking.

"Very true, my lord," the Death Eater nearest Voldemort was assuring him obsequiously.

"You will give me your attention, _Muggles_," Voldemort sneered loudly in his high-pitched voice. "You are no longer the subjects of Her Majesty, the Queen. You are _my_ subjects now." The occupants of the park had stopped to listen as he spoke. The young family man stepped instinctively in front of his wife, who was pushing a stroller. Alex, after a swift glance at the nearest exit which was blocked by one of the Death Eaters, had remained where she was. The business man Severus had noted earlier seemed to be annoyed.

"Now look here," he ejaculated loudly and mulishly, "things have gone -"

"_Avada Kadavra!_" Cornelius Fudge cast the killing curse with aplomb - Severus noting the evidence of more talent than he had previously attributed to the Minister - and the spear of green light found its target. When the speaker's body crumpled to the ground, it was obvious to even the more distant bystanders that he was dead. Those remaining in the park fell dreadfully silent, with the exception of a baby, suddenly clutched too tightly by its mother, who began to whimper softly.

"There will no longer be any need to do other than follow my orders," Voldemort drawled lazily, "Whether given directly or through my Death Eaters." His eye fell on Alex, who stood quietly in the same spot, watchful and wary. He smiled at her.

"_Thinking_ by puny brains such as yours is not required, nor will it help you find a way out of this - perhaps a small demonstration -" Voldemort pointed his wand at her almost lazily and said "_Imperio_." Her face glazed over blankly.

Alex climbed awkwardly on to the edge of the fountain beside Voldemort and, still blank-faced, placed her hands on his shoulders as though they were lovers. She insinuated herself closer, and then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doubled over in a way that made even Severus wince in instinctive male sympathy. The Dark Lord's wide-set eyes were even wider than normal as his snake-like face contorted in an instant of shock and pain that he mastered immediately.

"_Seize her!_" he ordered, his normally high voice harsh and shrill. Two of the Death Eaters immediately stepped forward, one stunning her as the other shot binding cords out of his wand, and then the scene dimmed around them as Alex lost consciousness.

-------------------

Severus looked at Dumbledore in inquiry as a new scene appeared in the Pensieve.

"Alex was imprisoned and tortured for quite some time," the Headmaster told them in a tight voice that revealed his anger. "You don't need to see that - but when she was close to dying, Voldemort took another approach and sent Lucius Malfoy to seduce her." The wolf made an inarticulate noise, and Severus noted with interest that he was not merely unusually pale - even more so than he had been earlier in the office - but now positively white. The Headmaster shot the wolf a look of concern and reached out to pat his arm soothingly just as Lucius Malfoy appeared around the corner, a covered tray trailing him obediently through the air.

"That's not what we're here to see," Dumbledore assured the wolf quickly as Lucius approached. "Alex suspected something of the sort, and very sensibly used the opportunity to regain a little of her physical strength." They watched Lucius unlocking the door with his wand and rearranging his expression from one of boredom into one of helpless longing before he plucked the tray from the air and opened the door.

Alex was sitting on a cot, but rose shakily to face Malfoy. She looked very much as she had on the night Severus had been summoned to Grimmauld Place. The remnants of her suit hung about her frame - the jacket was nowhere in sight - and her face was gaunt. The muscle tremors were present, and he knew that rising to her feet must have cost her a great deal.

"I brought you some supper," Lucius said ingratiatingly, setting the tray down on a small metal table against one wall of what was obviously a cell. "The regular meal will be around later but - well -" he paused as his voice caught just enough to be audible, "I wanted to make sure yours was delivered while it was hot."

"That was very kind of you." Her voice and expression revealed very little, and Severus was unwillingly impressed.

Lucius moved closer, his expression full of concern. "I hate to see you like this! I wish –" His voice broke dramatically, and one hand moved as though to reach for her before he thought better of it.

A sudden _boom_ sounded, as though there had been an explosion not far away. His first thought was that this was part of Malfoy's staging, but Lucius' expression seemed to be genuinely surprised as he turned toward the door, leaving his back momentarily unguarded. Severus had the disconcerting experience of watching Lucius' face in all its arrogant blond perfection looking right at him through the open cell door as the prisoner's hands came up behind him. One grasped his skull through the perfectly coifed blond silk, and the other clutched his robes between his throat and his collarbone. In a single swift movement, Alex slammed the back of his neck into the metal edge of the table.

Lucius Malfoy's body slid to the floor, and Alex managed to grab his wand as he went down. His mouth opened as his last breath left his lungs and his eyes, wide with shock, stared up at his prisoner. She watched it all with impressive stoicism - his struggle to breathe or to move, the realization that he could not do either, the shock of his awareness that she had actually killed him - until she was sure he was quite dead. He saw her kneel shakily to check for a pulse.

"I think Voldemort misjudged her," the Headmaster mused aloud, watching the scene sadly. "It was not his _appearance_ that was so repulsive to her that she found the strength to break free from his Imperius, but his _character_." Severus noticed that Dumbledore was still gripping the wolf's elbow in what was probably intended to be an unobtrusive gesture of support. "Alex was never in danger of being deceived by Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore continued.

Inside the cell, Alex was drawing a tremulous breath, her hand dropping down from Malfoy's motionless throat. "Come on, _think_," she ordered herself under her breath. She rummaged through the pockets of Malfoy's robes, finding only his purse and a ring, both of which she took.

"Great, no keys," she muttered, forcing herself to her feet. She put out a hand to steady herself against the wall for a moment, her gaze resting on the tray. Her eyes narrowing, she pulled off the cover to reveal a bowl of soup and a roll. Grimacing, she ignored the soup and started on the roll as she drew herself up and stepped out of the cell, darting quick glances both ways down the corridor before closing the door quietly behind her.

She did not attempt to run down the corridor, but forced her uneasy limbs to move at a normal walking pace while she continued to wolf down the roll. Another loud noise sounded from the right as she approached the end of the corridor, and she paused to listen for a moment after looking sharply in that direction. Now that they were closer, Severus could make out definite sounds of some sort of disturbance nearby. When Alex reached the end of the corridor, she hesitated for a moment, then turned toward the sound rather than away, leaving him to wonder with some disgust whether she was the American equivalent of another damned Gryffindor. She arrived momentarily in front of another door leading to the source of the noise.

Severus saw her test it by moving it very slightly to ensure it was not locked, then she jerked it open swiftly and ducked in, her body bent low as she moved awkwardly to take shelter behind an overturned table. The three of them followed, and found that they had entered into the midst of a battle. Three Death Eaters at various points around the room were shooting spells at a robed figure in the center who was, amazingly, succeeding in dodging them. A fourth one, Nott, was lying motionless on the floor.

The three remaining Death Eaters were not coordinating their fighting at all. They were all shouting contradictory instructions - at each other and at the figure in the center - along with their spells. If they had acted with any cohesion, Severus concluded analytically, they would easily have won. The man in the center didn't even have a wand.

The central figure dodged again as he thought this. Severus got a better look at his face and grew cold.

"Dumbledore?" he heard the wolf whisper. This remembered Dumbledore had had most of his hair and beard cut off, and he didn't seem like himself without them.

"Don't you know when you're defeated, old man?" Rodolphus Lestrange jeered. "Or do you think you can replace your precious Harry Potter? He's been dead for a while now, surely you've had plenty of time to find a replacement. Or do you think you can take on the Dark Lord yourself?"

Caught up in their battle, the wizards had paid little attention to Alex's entrance, being much more interested in Dumbledore. He dodged another spell, which hit the wall near the Lestrange who'd been speaking; he broke off mocking Dumbledore to shout invective at his colleague.

Alex took the opportunity to peer over the edge of the table, and her eyes met those of the beardless Dumbledore. In one swift movement, she drew out Malfoy's wand and threw it to him. He reached up and caught it and shouted "_Stupefy,_" before the Death Eaters even realized he was now armed. His spell hit the one of his opponents, but as he was stunning the second, Lestrange produced another weakly-voiced hex. This time he hit his mark.

The beardless Dumbledore remained frozen for a moment, awash in green light and still crouching near a chair that only provided cover for attacks from the opposite direction. Then, with Herculean effort, he turned and shot a final spell at Lestrange, still standing triumphantly in the same position. They both toppled to the floor at the same time.

Alex, seeing the last Death Eater go down, darted forward to where the beardless Dumbledore lay, still clutching Malfoy's wand. He opened his eyes as she placed her hand on his throat to check for a pulse, a spasm of pain contorting his face. Footsteps could be heard faintly in the distance.

"_Colloportus,_" Dumbledore muttered weakly, still lying on the floor, and the door that had been left open shut itself smartly.

"We really need to get out of here," Alex said, assisting him to sit up a bit, pulling an overturned chair up for him to lean against. "Can you walk if I help you?" His face was colorless, and a fine sheen of sweat clung to his skin.

"You need to get out of here," he corrected, his eyes still keen. "I don't think I'll be leaving with you." Alex's jaw set stubbornly.

"If you think I'm going to just -" she started angrily, confirming Severus' worst impression of her so far. She was hardly in any condition to escape herself, much less to assist anyone else.

"My name is Albus," the Headmaster interrupted her, "and you are?"

"Alex," she said shortly, "look, Albus, time is definitely not on our side. We need to -"

"I may be able to change that," he said, his voice remarkably calm. He raised Malfoy's wand in the air experimentally, but then his expression changed. Severus had never seen Dumbledore look _defeated _before. "Or perhaps not. It seems we can't go back, not from here." Footsteps could be heard quite plainly now approaching the far door, and Alex shot an anxious look at it.

"So we'll go somewhere else," she said distractedly, clasping Dumbledore's forearm urgently. "Away would be good - preferably before anyone else shows up! Out of here would be even better." Just as she finished, whoever was approaching reached the far door and tried, unsuccessfully, to open the door.

"Hey," a new voice said irritably, "open up in there."

The beardless Dumbledore no longer looked defeated, but as if he were thinking furiously.

"What do you know about alternative universe theory?" he asked Alex.

"Can we talk about this _later_?" she said impatiently. Knocking on the far door was becoming pounding.

"I can keep them out a while longer, but I do require your attention." Alex stopped looking at the door and turned back to Dumbledore.

"Then make it fast." The pounding stopped, and Severus suspected a wand was now in use on the other side.

"Voldemort evidently anticipated an attempt to use time travel to negate his victory, and I'm blocked from sending you straight back in time, but I may be able to send you to an alternate universe at a point preceding this," the Headmaster told her. Alex was listening with indifference; she obviously didn't care what he said as long as he said it quickly. "You can give my alternate self the information necessary to avoid the mistakes that let Voldemort win. If we can defeat him in the alternate world, and if that world becomes primary to this one, then this branch - in which he wins - will eventually die off as it diverges too far from the core."

"That sounds like a lot of 'ifs'," Alex muttered. "Are you ready to leave now?" The Headmaster was still holding Lucius Malfoy's wand in one of his hands, and now he used the other to place Alex's hand on the wand as well, holding it in place with surprising strength.

"Alex, I need you to understand," he told her urgently, and then he muttered a word that Severus couldn't hear.

The effect was explosive. Silver light flared around both of them, joined together by Malfoy's wand, their eyes meeting above it. Dumbledore looked determined, Alex shocked. Dumbledore's lips continued to move, and now a wave of silver tinged with gold began to pour from his head into hers, and it was no longer possible to see their faces behind what looked like a rush of metallic water cascading sideways in mid air between their heads.

The flood was starting to taper off, then it stopped as abruptly as it had started.

In the center of the floor, Alex fell backwards, saved from toppling over only by Dumbledore's superhuman grip holding her hand to the wand that connected them. The beardless Dumbledore was now struggling for breath, and he turned their joined hands to point Malfoy's wand at a space in the floor. A quick jolt of blue shot out and pooled on the floor, forming a glowing circle through which portions of a park were visible.

"_Go_," he gasped, pushing her toward the circle and thrusting Malfoy's wand into her hands. Alex, white-faced and dazed, started to rise unsteadily to her feet, and the door flew open. Another Death Eater stood holding his wand on the other side. There was an instant in which they all remained frozen, and then she took a step and almost fell into the circle just as the Death Eater shot a nasty hex in her direction. The spell struck her as she was partially through the portal, and then everything vanished.

--------------------

They were in the Headmaster's office, which was in unusual disorder. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, a tear trickling down his face. The Potter boy stood at the window, hands clenched.

"This is my alternate's memory of the first of the major mistakes that allowed Voldemort to win," the present Headmaster told them.

"So you see, Harry," the remembered Headmaster sitting at his desk said painfully, "it was not your fault that Sirius was killed at the Ministry tonight, it was mine. If I had told you why Voldemort would try to get you to the Ministry, you would not have been deceived by the false image of your godfather in danger. Even if I had told Sirius more forcefully why he _must not_ be lured out of Grimmauld Place -"

"He didn't like being locked up!" Potter shouted, turning on the Headmaster with such anger and pain in his face that the wolf started toward him instinctively. The Dumbledore next to him caught his arm, and the wolf turned to look at him.

"You _knew_," he said hoarsely. "You knew Sirius would be killed -"

The Potter brat was still shouting something, and the Dumbledore next to the wolf said quietly, "Perhaps my office would be better for this conversation." Severus, his mind occupied in processing the information he was now privy to, moved to stand on the Headmaster's other side. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, and the three of them rose out of the Pensieve.


	5. Confessions

Severus could hear the wolf breathing in the silence of the Headmaster's office to which they had returned.

"Yes, Remus, I knew," Dumbledore told him painfully, "and I only repeated the very mistake Alex warned me about. I didn't tell Harry the truth and –" his voice caught, and he swallowed. "I made all sorts of excuses to myself. I reminded Sirius again and again that he _must not_ leave Grimmauld Place, and I told myself that I had fixed the problem. I thought I was being _clever_." Severus had never heard Dumbledore speak with such self-loathing before, but the wolf seemed to be incapable of responding.

The Headmaster drew a steadying breath, and his face set. "When we talked about telling Harry to prevent this from happening, I told her that I would 'take care of it,' but my conscience began to bother me because I knew I had not 'taken care of it' the way she expected me to. I told myself I was only looking out for her well-being. She was still recovering from some very traumatic experiences, and too much information, I reasoned, would only upset her." Dumbledore sat down abruptly, and Fawkes fluttered over to him immediately. He stroked the phoenix absently.

"Now you understand why Alex left. She no longer trusts me, and she is quite right not to do so. My alternate self identified Sirius' death as the first key mistake that allowed Voldemort to win. Harry was devastated by the loss of his godfather, and it changed him - not for the better."

The wolf, although still parchment white, looked angrier than Severus had ever seen him. As the Headmaster's lips parted to continue speaking, the wolf raised his hand in repudiation and the Headmaster fell silent.

"I'm too upset to discuss this right now. You'll have to excuse me," the wolf said with finality. Without another word, he strode over to the fireplace, threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames and disappeared without a word or glance. The Headmaster watched him go with a faint sheen of tears glazing his eyes. Fawkes nudged against him, and Dumbledore resumed stroking him.

"Alex is a Muggle?" Severus prompted, uncomfortable with the air of oppressive emotion in the room and anxious to get the Headmaster talking again in spite of the wolf's interruption.

The Headmaster continued to stroke Fawkes absently. "Yes, Severus, she was a Muggle until my alternate self poured much of his own talent into her along with his memories." He regarded Severus assessingly. "I don't think that this is an area suitable for experimentation. I am fairly certain that it would have killed me - or rather my alternate self. Not an unexpected result, of course, but not a venture to be undertaken in anything other than extraordinary circumstances." The Headmaster waved Severus to a seat.

"So the Dark Lord will win because Sirius Black had to charge off to play the hero," he mused.

"_Severus_!" The Headmaster reprimanded him. Their eyes met, Dumbledore's unusually fierce. While Severus hadn't meant to say that aloud in front of the Headmaster, he refused to retract it.

"I was wondering whether this single event was decisive," he responded, choosing his words carefully.

"It's hard to say," he heard at last. "My alternate identified a number of other key events that allowed Voldemort the ultimate victory. I would have preferred, of course, to avoid all of them. Regrettably, this is no longer possible. Presuming that the others can be averted - " Dumbledore shook his head helplessly. "I hope we can still help Harry to defeat Voldemort, but it is impossible to say one way or another with any degree of certainty."

"What is the next event?" Severus asked.

"The murder of Molly Weasley," the Headmaster replied at last, "but not for a while yet. We have some time."

"How -" Severus began, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"That can wait a little. I am serious about sharing more information," he added as he saw Severus' frown, "but at the moment, I am more concerned about Alex."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "She knows the key events as well," he replied, leaving unspoken the annoying and painful point that Dumbledore had allowed a Muggle woman they barely knew to know more than he, Severus, did, "and she has your talent at her disposal. Knowledge and power." A nasty thought occurred to him. "In light of what has just happened, and if she expects the Dark Lord to win, will she ally herself with him?" The Headmaster was shaking his head.

"Not willingly. You know what must have been done to her." There was reproach in Dumbledore's voice.

Severus leaned back and allowed himself to voice the product of his cool and rapid analysis. "Strength of mind and will is at least as important as talent in resisting an Imperius Curse. She not only angered the Dark Lord when she broke free, she unwittingly impressed him as well. That's why he kept her alive and set Lucius after her - he needed to see her _defeated_ rather than merely killed. If she went to him now, voluntarily, he would value her as an extraordinary ally - strong-willed, powerful, and with knowledge that would help him ensure his victory."

"Really, Severus -"

"She could -"

"_No_, Severus. That is not why I am concerned. I do not think there is the slightest possibility that she will join Voldemort. I am concerned because she is in a very difficult situation - still convalescing, alone, and with limited resources in a strange world - and I bear some responsibility for that. Moreover, she has not been properly trained as a witch - my alternate self gave her his talent and some information he thought might be of use, but that is hardly a comprehensive education. She knows some spells known only to a handful of witches or wizards alive today - but she also lacks some very basic spells and information any second year student would have. Don't you see how dangerous that is?" The Headmaster's worry was obvious in every syllable he uttered.

"She doesn't know what she does not know," Severus supplied softly and succinctly.

"Exactly." Clear blue eyes met cool black ones. "If you have the opportunity, I want you to help her." Severus' face expressed his disbelief. "She's only met four people," Dumbledore pointed out. "One of them is dead, and one she does not trust. It is not as unlikely that she will seek your assistance as you might think. If she does, I want you to help her - even if she asks you to conceal it from me."

"I am not in the habit -" he began stiffly.

"I know that, Severus," the Headmaster said more gently. "That's one of the reasons I trust you. If there is an opportunity for you to earn Alex's trust, I hope you will be able to take it. It may not be possible to do that if she thinks you're reporting everything to me, so I want you to know that I would understand." Dumbledore rose to his feet then, and Fawkes fluttered away. "I would appreciate it if you would just do what you can if an opportunity arises."

Severus rose, nodded, and left the room.

---------------

Alex finished talking, then waited.

"Interesting," her listener said at last.

"Does that mean you don't believe me?" Alex inquired, unsurprised. The older woman across from her chuckled.

"Oh, I believe you all right." Seeing that she had surprised Alex this time, she added in explanation, "I've lived a long time, y'know. Seen a lot of students. Started out a pretty good judge of character and got better over time." She set her cup down with a light clinking of china. "Not telling me everything, of course - don't blame you for that - but not lying."

Alex relaxed slightly. Coming here had been a gamble, and telling the truth - even part of it - had been another, but it looked like she had chosen well. Or simply been lucky, she reflected with a touch of humor.

"Do you want the rest of it?" Alex asked, rolling the dice again.

Her listener shook her head. "No. Don't need to know. Not sure I want to anyway. No, what you asked of me was better. _That_ I can do." She chuckled again. "Might even enjoy it. I'll think on it." She cast a shrewd look at the wand Alex had set on the table. "But you'll be wanting another wand right away."

"That one doesn't like me," Alex agreed, prompting another sharp look from her listener.

"Not surprising." She pushed herself out of her chair. "Can't have Ollivander recognizing it. Better borrow my spare. Tell him -" she cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment, "- you're my great-niece - never mind how many greats - through my late husband's sister - maybe I better write a note." She started shifting the books and stacks of parchment cluttering her desk until she retrieved some blank parchment and began scratching with an ancient quill.

A short time later, Alex was approaching Ollivander's with an air of confident purpose and another borrowed set of robes to conceal her inward trepidation. She pushed open the door of the tiny shop and stepped inside - and immediately felt safer. _My wand is here._

"Good morning," Mr. Ollivander said softly. Alex looked at the pale old man emerging from the shadows and smiled.

"Good morning," she replied, shutting the door behind her and cutting off the noise from the street outside. "I need to replace my wand, I'm afraid, and my aunt suggested I try here. She also asked me to play owl," she finished with an intentional touch of humor as she handed over the note. The proprietor reviewed it unhurriedly, a faint smile flickering across his face as he read.

"Most unfortunate," he pronounced, "but rather like her." He refolded the parchment affectionately and placed it in the vest pocket of his robes. "One hates to think of a wand being lost in such a way - even one of Jacobs' creations - although I expect you were still rather attached to it." He began to pull down boxes from one of his shelves as a rather annoying enchanted tape measure started zipping about her excitedly. "I think we'll be able to find something suitable."

She accepted the first wand he gave her to try and felt it resonate through her - slightly dissonant - for only an instant before he snatched it away. The second also felt off - the tone was a bit shrill - as did the third, which seemed rather flat. The fourth was so high pitched that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck before it was whipped out of her grasp. The fifth was not nearly so annoying, but it was also something of a non-entity - pleasant enough, but lacking any real force. Alex stopped paying attention and allowed her mind to drift as the wand maker tried one after another.

"Interesting," Mr. Ollivander mumbled, apparently to himself as he added yet another wand to the pile of discarded ones. "I would have thought that the hickory, if not the hawthorn - but, never mind, we'll find it -"

"You're looking in the wrong place," Alex told him absently. He looked up sharply, his large pale eyes very penetrating indeed. The sudden attention brought Alex back to herself, and she rather regretted saying anything.

"Where _should_ I be looking?" he asked quite deliberately, his eyes still fixed on her face. Realizing that trying to deny what she'd said would probably only arouse his curiosity even further, Alex indicated the proper shelf, high in a back corner of the small room. Within another sharp look at her, he walked back to the corner and mounted a small step ladder to pull a stack of boxes down. Hesitating a moment, he selected one and carefully opened the box.

"Dragon heartstring in blackthorn. Eleven inches." He did not hand her the wand, but merely held out the box. Alex reached out to take it.

The moment she touched it, she knew it was the right one, although the shower of blue sparks did not erupt from the tip until it was safely enclosed in her hand. The tone of this one was lovely - clear and piercing and sweet as it seared through her before subsiding into a faint hum of contentment that she felt rather than heard.

"Very nice," the proprietor approved. "Tell me, have you ever done any wand-making yourself?"

Alex shook her head. "I'm afraid I've never really had the opportunity."

"It's an interesting vocation. A wand is a wizard's most important tool, but few people appreciate the subtleties of the craft. That wand, for instance," he nodded at the wand that had selected her and her fingers tensed slightly around it before she reluctantly yielded it back to its maker, "has its own character and history," he continued blandly as he regarded it with interest before returning it to its box. "I made this one many years ago, and it has never chosen a wizard or witch in all this time."

"Oh?"

Ollivander nodded and stepped over to the counter where he began to wrap it with deliberate care. "I hoped I could stop making blackthorn wands," he mused aloud. "They were never very popular, even in the war years, although there were a few more of them then. Hawthorn is rather more pleasant, of course. In fact," he said, regarding her out of his large pale eyes with unnerving intensity, "I was gathering wand wood from a hawthorn tree when I took the wand wood for this one from its sister tree. It had been struck by lightning – not much more than the wand wood survived – and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste." He had finished preparing the package, and Alex hoped she could bring this uncomfortable conversation to a close fairly quickly.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, changing the subject and pulling out a purse.

"Your aunt arranged to have it charged to her account," Mr. Ollivander told her. "Quite appropriate under the circumstances."

"There's no need for that, I can take care of it -" but he was shaking his head.

"I've known your aunt much too long to argue with her," he said with a smile and an air of finality. Alex saw that persisting was going to look strange without accomplishing anything, so she thanked him and retreated with a firm mental vow to put the entire encounter out of her mind. She had her wand, and she wasn't going to waste any mental energy worrying about its origins now.

Returning later to the overflowing room, she frowned as her first sight of her hostess brought one part of the encounter she did need to remember to mind.

"I was _not_ trying to sponge off you," she told her firmly. "There's more than enough here to pay for a new wand."

"It added to the story," the older woman returned casually. "And no, you can't pay me back for it either," she added quickly as she saw Alex start to speak again. "It's part of my contribution to the war effort, and I won't let you take it away from me." Her voice had become a little fierce at the end. _I'm not too old to be useful_, she thought indignantly._ Not yet anyway._ "Now, do you want to stand around wasting time, or do you want to get started?" she demanded sharply.

The older woman's expression caused Alex to swallow her pride. Instead, she sat down obediently across from her hostess and asked, "Where do we begin?"

-------------------

Remus presented himself at the Headmaster's Office at the appointed time. He could only remember one other occasion in his life when he had been upset enough to have to walk away like he had the last time he was here, and that had been a very long time ago. He thought he had, well, outgrown it, but perhaps it was impossible to outgrow something that sprang from a fundamental part of your character.

Remus had always had a gift for understanding people - how they were thinking and feeling, and how he could help them. It was one reason he had enjoyed teaching so much - that precious opportunity to encourage his students to allow the best of themselves to emerge.

Unfortunately, the events surrounding Sirius' death had simply been too much, even for him. He had managed his own pain enough to restrain Harry; he could feel what James' son was going through and his heart ached for Harry's loss as if it were his own. Alex's departure and Dumbledore's revelations had only added to that burden. He hadn't needed the Headmaster's explanations to understand why Dumbledore had acted as he had; in the instant that piece of the puzzle slotted into place, Remus could feel it all - Dumbledore's love for Harry and the need to protect him that had backfired so tragically, the Headmaster's anguished regret over Sirius' death, his guilt over his treatment of Alex intermixed with genuine concern for her, and even his painful awareness of Remus' loss - for Dumbledore was not without empathic talent himself.

Remus also realized at that moment that Alex was really gone, and he understood that as well. She must have felt terribly betrayed, and he could hardly blame her. The wizarding world had not treated her well, and Remus was painfully aware that he hadn't helped. He might have been able to do more for her if he had known some of her history while she was still at Grimmauld Place - or if his own feelings had not played havoc with his instincts where she was concerned. Her absence was painful enough, but he didn't think he could bear the knowledge that she preferred being somewhere out there alone, perhaps even in pain and in danger, to remaining with him or asking him for help.

All of it together was more than he could handle. He had been utterly incapable of remaining in the same room with the Headmaster and listening to his explanations and expressions of remorse. Two days later, he still wasn't ready for that, but the Headmaster was the only one with information about Alex and he needed to find her. Losing Sirius was still too raw, but if he waited too long and lost the trail, Alex could be as lost to him as Sirius was.

Having penned a brief - almost curt - request for an appointment, he found himself standing here at the top of the revolving stairs knowing that it was too soon to have this discussion, but that he was going to have to do it anyway. He raised his hand and tapped briefly on the door with tight knuckles.

"Come in," Dumbledore called. Remus took a deep breath and stepped inside. The Headmaster was standing behind his desk. Swiftly assessing Remus' closed expression, Dumbledore did not offer his hand. "Please have a seat," he said quietly, seating himself.

"Thank you," Remus replied mechanically as he did so, before getting directly to the point. "I came to see if you know anything that might help me find Alex." The Headmaster leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression somber.

"Very little factual information, I'm afraid, beyond what you saw in the Pensieve." He hesitated for a moment. "You may not be aware that, unlike the use of a Pensieve, the direct transfer my alternate self and Alex both used is a mechanism that carries more than the observable aspects of a memory. There are –" he paused to search for an appropriate word "– resonances that accompany it. Emotions tied to the original memory are the strongest, but there can be some aspects associated with the sender as well."

_He's saying he touched her mind._ Remus ruthlessly restrained a flare of jealousy. "Did you learn anything else?" he inquired with a commendably even tone.

The Headmaster's eyes closed briefly in thought. When he opened them and spoke again, it was with regret. "Probably nothing you haven't already discerned. Alex is a highly intelligent woman with a well-disciplined mind." His lips twisted slightly. "She would hardly have survived the original transfer otherwise. My alternate self was as lucky as he was desperate."

"As for the resonances associated with her rather than my alternate - in that present at Grimmauld Place, mostly pain. A sense of resolution, determination backed by a very strong force of sheer will. Hints of her feelings for Lucius Malfoy attached to that memory - disgust, contempt, anger. Remembered pain from the torture. Then –" he broke off suddenly. "Remus, are you quite sure that you -"

"Quite," Remus bit out, aware that something about his expression must have betrayed more than he intended. "Please continue," he added with an unexpected note of steel in his voice.

"As you wish," the Headmaster said levelly, adjusting his half-moon glasses with a small sigh. "There's not much more. A great deal of pain when killing Lucius, despite her dislike of him. Determination again, trying to get out and refusing to abandon my alternate. Then shock at what he did to her. The intrusion into her mind - she felt like he raped her." Dumbledore turned his head to stare out the window into the distance. "Not an inappropriate analogy, I'm afraid."

"Anything else?" Remus asked tightly after an interval. The Headmaster turned back to face him.

"Not regarding the memories. I –" Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing. "I warned Alex rather extensively regarding the dangers associated with time travel and her knowledge of future events. I don't know how seriously she will consider the concerns I expressed in light of - what happened. You see, Alex was of the opinion that Sirius should have been informed of what had happened to his alternate and the effect it had on Harry." Remus closed his eyes against what he saw in Dumbledore's. After a long interval, he heard the Headmaster add, "We didn't speak much beyond that," but the regretful voice that spoke the words seemed to be coming from very far away.

Forcing himself to open his eyes again but not looking directly at the Headmaster, he rose stiffly, said "Thank you," very formally, and rose to leave. Dumbledore's voice stopped him before he made it out the door.

"I didn't know until the Pensieve that you had suffered a double loss," he said quietly. "I'm very sorry Remus." Remus remained where he was, his view of the door getting fuzzy as his vision blurred.

"I - didn't know her for very long," he managed.

"Some things don't require much time," the Headmaster said, his voice very gentle.

"She couldn't even tell me what she liked to read!" Remus spun back to face Dumbledore, his vision suddenly clear and his body taut with tension. "She didn't know whether wizards have the same categories of fiction as Muggles and there was no one she could ask without -" he pressed his lips together firmly and took a short, sharp breath. "I have to go," he said abruptly, turning and almost bolting out the door and down the stairs.

Dumbledore didn't try to stop him this time.


	6. Charm Work

A/N – This portion is a little short, but the next part is rather longer and almost ready to post. Encouragement makes me write faster, but constructive criticism is appreciated as well!

**July, 1996**

Alex threw herself into her work, determined to become proficient in the material they'd selected as quickly as possible. While she lacked the stamina for extended practical work, she raced quickly through the written material. Her mastery of the theory outside of their practice time allowed them to move efficiently through the exercises during the limited time they could work effectively each day.

She was pouring over a Transfiguration text one evening when her hostess, who had been eyeing her thoughtfully, suddenly declared brusquely, "Don't need to do it all at once, y'know."

Startled, Alex looked up and tried to drag her mind back to the present. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I wasn't attending," she apologized. The older woman snorted.

"Know you weren't. You study like it's going out of style!"

Keeping her finger in the book to mark the page, Alex looked very mildly amused. "I would have thought you'd appreciate enthusiasm in a student," she parried. Her hostess snorted again.

"Not saying it isn't a nice change, but there's no point in overdoing it! You've been hitting those books like –" she broke off suddenly.

"Like there's no tomorrow?" Alex supplied dryly. Even the very faint trace of her earlier amusement had vanished from her eyes.

Her hostess met them briefly, then the older woman's dropped for a moment. She raised them again defiantly, though, before Alex could return to her book.

"Not saying I don't understand, but –" she sighed. "It's not _natural_. Studying all the time. Never ask for a day off. Never go out for an evening. Nothing but books and practice." There was a moment of silence.

"If you've reconsidered having me here –" Alex began carefully. The old woman glared.

"Don't go putting words in my mouth," she snapped tartly. Alex mastered her own temper enough to keep her voice level as she replied.

"Well, I do have an errand I need to run. I was planning to take care of it one day this weekend, but –"

"An errand related to this?" She didn't need to see Alex's nod to know that the younger woman's activity would be anything but merely social. "That's not what I meant."

"What do you suggest? I'm not exactly in a position to ring up any of my family or friends at the moment."

"Even so –"

"And I am literally _decades_ behind witches and wizards of my own age, and all the studying I do is not going to make up for my lack of experience." Alex's eyes were bleak. "Nevertheless, I need the foundational knowledge if I am going to be of any use at all. The next thing I read – or fail to read – could be the one that keeps me alive just a little bit longer." With that, Alex rose, her still diminutive figure upright. "I think I'll retire for the night, if you don't mind," she continued politely. "I'll see you in the morning, and thank you again for your help today." She carried the book out with her when she left, her finger still caught between the pages at the spot where she left off.

Her hostess sat back in her chair and considered. Alex might be determined, but the older woman had years of experience in handling students and getting them to do what she knew was best for them. With all that experience behind her, this particular problem was not that much of a challenge.

All Alex would do was study and practice, but there was no reason she had to stay cooped up the whole time. _I'll start small,_ the old woman decided, _with just a little physical activity and a little fresh air. _She quickly ran through her mental syllabus for something she could adapt to her purposes. _That's it_, she decided, _when we hit Charms next week. That will do very nicely._

> > > > > > >

Remus waged a valiant fight to keep his spirits at least somewhat intact in the days and weeks after Sirius' death. He felt he had to if he were to continue to be of any use to Harry or the Order, although he was still angry enough at the Headmaster to make his continued involvement with the latter a painful obligation.

Remus missed Sirius differently than he had so many years ago, when Sirius was imprisoned in Azkaban for Peter's murder. At the time, Remus felt as though everything he thought he knew about his friend, everything they had shared, had been an illusion. It was bad enough to have had a few private doubts – in the climate of the times, some caution had seemed appropriate with even the closest of friends – but the very public confirmation of the worst possible betrayal was another matter entirely. The ground had shifted violently beneath Remus' feet, leaving nothing recognizable when the aftershocks finally subsided. A stranger was sent to Azkaban, and Remus mourned the loss of a Sirius who no longer existed just as he mourned for James, Lily, and Peter.

The discovery of the truth had restored Sirius to life. Remus had rejoiced in his resurrection, and relished the time they were able to spend together as he discovered all the ways Sirius had changed during his time in prison – and all the more important ways in which he had not changed at all. In fundamentals, Sirius had been the same as ever – brash, energetic, and fun-loving. Admittedly, sometimes he could be slightly insensitive, or just a little short-sighted, but he had always been deeply loyal. Sirius expected Remus to be the same person he had been all those years ago, and his expectations forced Remus to face the ways he himself had changed.

Remus, too, was still fundamentally the same person – quiet, thoughtful, and a little too hesitant to risk the relationships that were most important to him – but the experiences of the passing years had left their mark on him as well. In one blow, all three of the other Marauders had been lost to him. His father had died a short time later, leaving him feeling ridiculously orphaned as an adult in his twenties. Remus lost the people he confided in, and so lost the habit of confiding in anyone. Having Sirius back had changed that again, for Padfoot could be remarkably persistent in digging information out of his friends, however deeply buried. In the safety of their friendship, Remus could really talk about some of the things that affected him, like the werewolf legislation Dolores Umbridge had sponsored a few years before, without fear of losing Sirius' good opinion. Padfoot would not abandon him just because he heard Remus describe Umbridge with a word one didn't use in polite company.

Then he lost it all again, knowing this time that what he lost had not been an illusion.

Alex's immediate disappearance was an additional source of great frustration. There was nothing he could do about losing Sirius, but it seemed as though he ought to be able to salvage some sort of relationship with Alex – if only he could find her. He quickly exhausted all the options he could come up with for locating her magically, but none of them had the slightest effect, and he was unable to come up with any other ways to try to find her without risking her safety. He even seriously considered resorting to inserting a personal notice in _The Daily Prophet_ regardless of the expense, but it would be more likely to cause the type of comment that would put her in danger than to assist him in finding her. If Voldemort became aware that Alex – burdened against her will with the knowledge of the future decisions that would bring him the ultimate victory – even _existed_ he would spare no efforts to find her and extract that knowledge. Remus could not risk it.

Immediately after she left, Remus had wondered if he could bear the knowledge that she was out there in the world somewhere, apart from him. Now he was reminded that there were worse alternatives.

> > > > > >

Severus Snape much preferred Hogwarts in the summer.

None of those annoying _students_ were around, knocking things over, getting the ingredients in the store room mixed up, and generally wreaking havoc within his carefully ordered domain. In the summer, he could work as he pleased. He didn't have to worry about the faculty mucking up his experiments; even if they were brave enough to venture into the dungeons, they would not be stupid enough to interfere with his work. Besides, between professional commitments – most academic conferences were held during this time period for obvious reasons – and holiday plans, not to mention visits to family by those who had family to visit, most of them were gone more often then not.

Severus was setting out the ingredients he would need that morning when he was interrupted by a deliberate throat-clearing. It was his policy not to display surprise, so he finished putting the last of the crushed Embioptera wings carefully down next to the cauldron before he turned around.

_So he's right again._

The Headmaster's prescience, though admirable, was occasionally annoying.

"Alex," he said softly in a combination of greeting and inquiry. He took in her appearance at a glance – recovering a bit, but overtired and still not up to strength.

"Severus," she replied simply. "I want you to do a favor for me."

He arched a single thin, dark brow. "Oh?"

"I want you to sell this to Lucius Malfoy," she told him, flipping it neatly to him without moving. He caught it automatically and glanced down at the ring in his hand. He became very still.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Of course."

He looked up into her blue-green eyes, but he could read very little in them. "And knowing this, you want me to place it in the hands of Lucius Malfoy," he said flatly. She smiled a little then – not nicely.

"It won't be quite as useful to him as he might think."

"If he should discover that what I have sold him has been tampered with –"

"You mean if he should discover that you _knew_ that what you sold him had been tampered with," she corrected, "and he won't. I'm not quite that stupid, nor that reckless." Then she added as an afterthought, "Have Albus take a look at it first if you like."

"You could ask him yourself," he suggested, probing.

"I'm not the one who's concerned," she parried. "So, will you do it?"

"Yes." He slipped the ring into his pocket.

"Thank you."

"How shall I contact you?"

"Don't."

"That will make it a little difficult to keep you apprised of the progress of the negotiations," he pointed out dryly, "or to get the proceeds of the sale to you."

Alex shrugged. "Handle the negotiations as you see fit. Have the proceeds deposited in vault 211 – less your commission, of course."

"I hardly think any remuneration is necessary," Severus said stiffly. He didn't know how she was managing at the moment, but taking money for doing something the Headmaster wanted him to do would have been crass.

"I apologize if I've caused offense."

"I am not offended, I merely stated that payment is not required." A change of subject was in order. "If I am to act as your agent, it would be helpful if you were to provide some guidance on your objectives in this transaction."

Alex looked at him as if he were an uncommonly dense student. "My objective is to sell the ring to Lucius Malfoy," she said slowly, clearly, and with an edge of irritation in her voice.

"Why?" Severus asked coolly.

"He wants the ring, and he can afford to pay for it. I'm willing to sell it to him. These are not difficult concepts."

"You said you knew what the ring was."

"Yes." There was a moment of silence before Alex spoke again. "If he's looking for the ring, I would prefer him to buy _this_ one." There was a trace of something in her eyes that made Severus momentarily glad that he was not Lucius Malfoy. Alex then looked directly at him. He met her gaze without flinching, and after a long moment she added, "It would amuse me to use his money to finance a venture I have planned in the future – something he would definitely not approve of – however that really isn't a major consideration. I won't need to fund it for about a year."

Severus considered whether to push a little further, but he thought he'd gotten about as much out of her as he was going to, and it was important to the Headmaster that he gain her trust. He wouldn't if he pressed her at this point.

"So you would prefer to make him pay a higher price later within that time frame rather than to accept a lower price in an earlier transaction," he concluded aloud.

"Exactly."

"That should fit in with my plans very nicely," he said.

Alex looked at him a little bit too knowingly, and he wondered again just how much she knew. All she said was, "I rather thought it would."

Severus debated whether to take the ring to the Headmaster for the rest of the day, but in the end he decided to do it. What held him back was not so much anything to do with gaining Alex's trust – as she hadn't asked him to keep anything from the Headmaster at all, this really was not an issue – as resentment of the fact that he really _wanted_ to tell him. Severus told himself that he was looking for confirmation that the ring had been acceptably modified, but a small voice in the back of his mind taunted him with the knowledge that what he was looking for was approval.

Now he was standing in front of the Headmaster's desk watching him examine the ring in minute detail. It was a full ten minutes before he set it down on the desk between them.

"The modification is very subtle," the Headmaster told him with approval. "The protection will continue to work normally in most cases, but will be less effective against certain people – most of whom are members of the Order – and can be disabled entirely if necessary. I don't believe we need to have any concerns about Lucius detecting it. Even if the ring is disabled completely, it will appear to Lucius that it was damaged during an attack."

"Very well." Severus picked up the ring and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Very nice work indeed," the Headmaster was saying. Severus reflected irritably that it seemed that Alex was more skilled in Charms than he was himself. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at him over the half-moon spectacles he wore. "Although I say it myself, which is not much of a compliment," he added.

"I regret that I do not perfectly understand your meaning," Severus told him stiffly.

The Headmaster was looking amused. "I mean that I should not be quite so pleased with my own work. Or perhaps, more precisely, my alternate's work." He looked rather pleased at the thought. "Yes, I think I should be allowed to compliment my alternate's work without being accused of vanity."

"Your alternate made the modifications to the ring?" Severus asked slowly, feeling a little better.

"Devised them, but never got to test them. If they hadn't been in the material Alex transferred to me, I wouldn't have known what to look for, and I doubt that even I would have been able to detect them without much longer study than Lucius will ever devote to this."

"Then Alex did make the modifications."

"Most likely," Dumbledore agreed. "She might have had assistance from someone highly skilled in charm work, but I'm not sure who that would be," he mused. "Was there anything you could share with me about her well being?" Severus noted how carefully the question was phrased.

"Not really," he admitted. Then, because the Headmaster looked vaguely disappointed, he added, "She looked fine. Not fully recovered, but as though she were in reasonably good health."

The Headmaster smiled. "Thank you, Severus."


	7. Missed Connections

Harry was having another horrible day.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were invited to some sort of gathering at the home of one of the other directors of Grunnings, the firm where Uncle Vernon was angling for a promotion. There was no question of their taking Harry along, which was fine with Harry. Even Dudley wasn't invited, prompting a tantrum which got Dudley the new computer he had been whining for. Dudley felt that his current model did not adequately display the aliens he was blowing up in sufficiently gory detail.

Harry would have preferred to stay at the house, but his aunt and uncle were violently opposed to leaving him there without adult supervision. After much debate about the risks of exposing Harry to any other adults who might know someone who knew someone who knew the Dursleys ("I'm not _contagious_," Harry had protested to no avail), they had finally settled on the scheme of sending him on an outing sponsored by the local historical society, which was visiting a number of sites of interest (to people other than Harry) in the neighboring town.

Dudley was bribed to go as well with the promise that his father would purchase the next version of a military combat game as soon as it came out ("I'll go right out and get it at lunch that _very_ day, Dudley, word of a Dursley,") and the understanding that, although he did not under any circumstances have to admit to _knowing _Harry, he was to report any "funny stuff" to his parents. Dudley was then provided with a substantial addition to his already generous allowance of pocket money – Harry did not expect to receive anything in the way of pocket money from the Dursleys and so was not disappointed – and both boys were deposited at the appointed meeting place with their pre-paid tickets for the excursion.

Harry did receive one thing Dudley did not – a lengthy lecture on behaving himself.

Now Harry was standing in one corner of a large gray cathedral wishing he were somewhere else. So far they had visited a number of sites which their guide found fascinating for reasons incomprehensible to Harry. First there was a ruined fort, containing a bath house ("Note the extraordinarily well-preserved details in the decoration of the _frigidarium_!"), and the remains of a cavalry barracks ("Under the flagstones, there is a pit which is thought to have been placed there to receive the horses' urine!").

Then there was a ruined castle ("There is some debate as to whether this particular tower in the outer bailey served as a chapel or a bakehouse,"), a reconstruction of a wall ("We wished to show you an example of true 'wattle and daub' construction,"), and a reconstruction of a gate ("The original was torn down in the third century to expand the perimeter to accommodate the addition of seven new granaries,").

After a hasty and greasy lunch which seemed to have disagreed badly with Harry's stomach – apparently the historical society was more interested in discussing the past than in feeding you properly in the present – they had moved on to churches, and Harry gave up even the polite pretense of attention.

He had managed to get through some of the earlier part of the day imagining what Sirius would have said about some of the guide's statements. Everything reminded him of his godfather no matter what he did, so he might as well think about some of the good stuff once in a while. Harry pretended to himself that Sirius was with him on this indescribably boring trip, only it wasn't boring with Sirius there. His godfather would have had funny, sarcastic comments to make, or perhaps he would have performed some amusing magic, like temporarily changing the decorations in the _frigidarium_ that the guide was so pleased with when his back was turned. If Sirius had been in his alternate form, Snuffles would have pulled Harry out of the boring lecture on how to handle horses' urine to the grassy area nearby, and the two of them could have had a bit of a romp before catching up to the rest of the group and trying to look as though they'd never left.

Now they had moved on to churches and chapels, and Harry couldn't pretend any more. All the churches and chapels seemed to be full of graves, which only reminded Harry that there wasn't anything left of Sirius even to bury. Everything was gray, and Harry's stomach was queasy from that horrible lunch, and despite being fifteen – not that far from sixteen – all he really wanted to do was find someplace to curl up and have a good cry. Since that wasn't possible at the moment, he settled for slipping into a dreary little alcove some distance from the annoying drone of the guide's voice where at least he didn't have to act as though he weren't miserable.

A younger boy in a rather tatty blue jumper came by and looked into the alcove where Harry was leaning against a pillar disconsolately.

"You with the group?" he chirped.

"Yeah."

"I'm s'posed to tell you they changed the meeting place to go back. Problem with the bus. You're leaving from the little coach park instead. Out the door to your right, second left, then three blocks down."

"Thanks," Harry said with unenthusiastic courtesy, and the boy skipped off. Harry looked guiltily over at the guide, who was on the opposite side of the building sounding forth about a grave monument in the floor ("Tenth century Viking, depicting the triumph of good over evil,") and made his way toward a side exit that would allow him to slip away unseen. He could skip the last little bit and go on ahead to the meeting place and wait for the rest of the group there.

He didn't think he could stand any more grave monuments right now.

Harry followed the directions he'd been given, but didn't find anything resembling a coach park. He thought maybe he had them confused, so he tried going two blocks down the third left instead of three blocks down the second, but that didn't help.

When he heard the clock strike the hour the bus was leaving to head back to Little Whinging, he figured out what had happened – _Dudley_. Using someone else to get Harry in trouble was just the sort of thing Dudley would do – not that there was any point in saying anything as Harry would never be able to prove it. Somehow, this would all end up being Harry's fault.

"Need any help?" Harry turned to look at the speaker, who proved to be a very thin woman with dark hair walking toward him wheeling a blue bicycle.

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry told her automatically, turning to face her and slipping a hand into the pocket of Dudley's old jacket to grasp his wand. The cyclist didn't look all that threatening, but appearances could be deceiving in the wizarding world. She slowed to a stop a short distance away from him.

"I'm not one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, Harry, but it's really not a good idea for you to be out here alone." She appeared to be thinking rapidly and hard. "You were on a day outing and got left behind, didn't you? Someone from the Order's supposed to be keeping an eye on you – did Mundungus wander off again? It's hard to believe after last time, but his judgment is not the most reliable."

"Are you –" Harry began, taking a half step closer but unsure exactly what he wanted to ask. He'd never heard a Death Eater call Voldemort by his name; that and her knowledge of the Order seemed to be a good sign.

"I'm not in the Order, but I'm no supporter of Voldemort's and I certainly don't want anything to happen to you," she replied calmly. Maybe she wasn't in the Order because she was an American, he speculated. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Something like that," he admitted, "and I am rather stranded, but I'm sure I can get back on my own."

"I'm sure you would too. A little later without my help than with it, but still basically intact," she agreed absently, apparently still thinking. "Although they'll be quite worried about you in the meantime, and I hate to do that to him."

Harry wasn't sure he was following her. "You mean Professor Dumbledore?" he asked. Surely she didn't think Uncle Vernon would worry about him? She shook her head.

"No, Remus." Before he could probe further, she continued on briskly. "Would you like to send him a note? If we enclose a part of something he can track and you keep the rest of it, he should be able to locate you with a Consanguinity spell despite Albus' Anti-Locator Charm. I really don't want to mess with that if I don't have to. I can loan you the bike so you can start back if you want to instead of waiting in one place. It's probably better for you to keep moving just now."

Harry hesitated, considering.

"Or I can give you some British money, leave the bike if you want it and just go away if you prefer," she sighed, shifting the bike slightly so she had a hand free to fish in the pocket of her jeans. She offered him some folded paper money.

"I'm not sure –"

"Your parents really wouldn't have wanted you wandering around without even a few pounds in your pocket over the summer, you know. I don't know why it never seems to occur to anyone to have Gringotts change some Galleons into pounds for you, but there's nothing to be done about that now. If it makes you feel better, consider it a no-interest loan." A sardonic look flashed in her blue-green eyes for a moment, reminding him oddly of Sirius in one of his darkly humorous moods. "You can pay me back at Christmas in 2001." Making up his mind, Harry accepted the paper and stuffed it in a pocket without looking at it.

"Thanks," he said, "and I would like to send a note to Professor Lupin, if that's okay." She conjured up pen and paper with a wave of her wand in reply. Harry was so accustomed to quills now that the Muggle pen felt awkward in his hand, but he supposed it looked less odd if someone saw them, so he took it and tried to decide what to write.

He got stuck just trying to figure out the greeting. He had always called Sirius by his first name, and was used to hearing his godfather refer to his friend as 'Remus', but Harry had been in the habit of addressing his former professor more formally and had never been invited to change that habit. Harry thought of him as both 'Professor Lupin' and 'Remus' but he wasn't sure he should use 'Professor' now – or would 'Mr. Lupin' be an upsetting reminder that he wasn't teaching anymore? He was conscious of the woman waiting nearby. _Stop dithering and just write something_, he told himself angrily.

"_R. L. – OK, but return changed unexpectedly. Come if you can. – H" _

Harry finished and looked up expectantly.

"Done? Then we need something you can carry part of on the bike. A stick or something will do." Harry spotted a candy bar wrapper in the gutter.

"Will this work?" She shrugged.

"Sure. Put part of it in the note and we'll attach the rest to the bike." Harry tore it in half lengthwise and tied part of it around the handlebars. His unknown benefactress regarded this with approval. "Good idea. If you use the other part to tie up the note, it will just look like a convenient alternative to ribbon." Harry smiled shyly in response and did just that. She didn't seem to think he was totally incompetent just because she was much older and he wasn't of age yet.

When he finished, he held it out to her. She concentrated briefly and tapped it with her wand as she muttered slightly under her breath. The scroll vanished. With the message sent, she handed over the bike and kindly adjusted the seat for him.

"How far am I from home?" he asked suddenly. "I'm not sure."

"I'm not exactly up on the local geography," she confessed, stepping back. Harry looked at the bike dubiously, something she picked up on immediately.

"I was using it to practice Transilientis Charms," she explained, "like the ones that move the Knight Bus, but on a much smaller scale, of course. It will skip ahead when you go around a corner and it's safe to do so."

"Okay," Harry said gamely. "Er, how are you going to –"

"Apparate," she shrugged. Harry mounted the bike and hesitated. His stomach was still queasy. If this enchanted bicycle was going to jump around like the Knight Bus did –

"You want me to ride along with you for a bit until you get a better sense of how it handles?" she offered tactfully, although Harry thought she sounded just a little reluctant.

"You've already helped me a lot."

She smiled. "It's okay, Harry. I did come out to practice, after all." She quickly conjured another bicycle for herself, and then performed a series of rather tricky charms on it with an expression of intense concentration on her face. She looked more than a little shaky when she finished, but she gamely swung her leg over the seat and stuck her foot in the pedal to push off. "Ready?" Harry nodded his agreement, and pushed off.

As his other foot left the ground, music started playing. "What's that?" he demanded, managing to keep his seat.

"What?"

"That music."

"Oh, sorry." She looked rather embarrassed. "I forgot I'd been listening before I saw you and decided to come over. I can turn it off." She started to pull out her wand.

"No, it's all right," Harry told her. "Just leave it." He wasn't familiar with the song, but it seemed to suit his mood somehow.

Harry hadn't had much experience with riding bicycles. Before he had gone to Hogwarts, there were a few times when he had been able to manage a little time on Dudley's first bicycle – the non-racing model his cousin had quickly discarded. It took a while to get the hang of it now, and Harry was a little wobbly at first, but his companion didn't seem to be in a hurry and he soon picked up the technique. It was both easier and more difficult than Quidditch. He didn't have to worry about falling very far or being hit by a bludger, but the bicycle was not nearly as responsive as a broomstick.

It occurred to Harry after he had been settled into a steady pace for a little while that he hadn't noticed any of the big jumps he had experienced on the Knight Bus.

"Isn't it supposed to, er, leap forward or something?"

"Only when you turn and it's safe," she answered. "Whenever you're ready, just pick a corner and steer around it."

"Okay." Harry spotted a turn coming up and swallowed as he steered to the left, hoping he wasn't going to throw up. He braced himself and stopped pedaling as the scene shifted, but nothing happened. He was just coasting along on a different street. He looked over at the woman in inquiry.

"Why didn't it, well, _lurch_ or anything?" he asked feebly. She looked startled.

"Did you want it to?"

"No, I just thought, well, the Knight Bus always gives a sort of a _jolt_."

"It's a lot bigger than a bicycle," she pointed out, "but I'm happy to know it's shifting smoothly. That was sort of the point of the practice."

They cycled on for a while without speaking, although Harry continued to listen to the magically generated music. The songs were performed by different people – some individual singers and some groups – but they matched his mood rather well.

As Harry became more comfortable with the idea that the bicycle was not going to start jumping around beneath him as he was trying to ride it, he turned on more corners to accelerate their progress. As they straightened up after one of them, he thought the candy bar wrapper flashed on the handlebars.

"Does it mean anything if it flashes?" he asked, nodding toward the wrapper.

"Better pull over," she said, starting to brake. "Remus is trying to find you." They pulled up under a convenient tree.

"How long do you think it will be before he gets here?" Harry asked. As he dismounted, the music stopped.

"Not long," she told him. The streetlights did not penetrate well through the branches of the tree, so Harry could not see much of her expression.

"Why were you listening to that music tonight?" Harry asked impulsively. For a moment he wasn't sure she was going to answer him.

"Music can be used to manage your emotions," she told him, "not entirely, of course, but it helps." There was a faint popping sound behind him, and Harry turned toward it so quickly that it seemed to echo in his ears.

_"Remus!_" Harry's former professor had Apparated into the street a short distance away, wand outstretched and facing in the wrong direction. As Harry said his name, Lupin spun around quickly, the anxious expression on his face easing slightly as he caught sight of Harry.

"Harry, are you all right?" he asked, stepping quickly over to Harry's side and running his eyes over him as though searching for signs of damage. "What happened? Why aren't you with the group?"

"One of the other boys told me they changed the assembly point, but I guess they didn't and I missed the bus," Harry explained wearily. "Dudley probably put him up to it." Comprehension flashed in his former teacher's amber eyes, and he slipped his wand into his sleeve.

"Well, we'd better get you home," he said kindly, clasping Harry's shoulder, "and then we'll deal with the fallout of your use of magic." Harry's jaw dropped.

"I'm going to get in _more_ trouble just for riding an enchanted bicycle?" he demanded angrily.

"Not for that, Harry," Lupin sighed, "you don't actually use magic for riding if the bicycle was already enchanted, so that's not really an issue as long as you weren't seen." His father's friend looked unexpectedly guilty. "No, I'm sorry to say what will probably bring the Ministry down on us was your sending me the note. Not that I don't appreciate –"

"But _I_ didn't do that," Harry interrupted, "_she_ did," he turned to the woman cyclist for confirmation, but she was gone.

"Who, Harry?" Lupin asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Harry admitted blankly. "She never told me her name. But she left her bike," he pointed toward the second bicycle she had conjured, now leaning innocuously against a tree. "Am I still going to get in trouble?"

"If an adult sent the message, it wouldn't have tripped any of the Ministry alerts," Lupin assured him, still frowning, "but why did she just –" he broke off and shook his head. "Never mind, we'll talk about it later. We'd better get you home, although you're really not very far away now. I'll summon the Knight Bus so we can get you the rest of the way there."

"Can't we just keep riding?" Harry demanded with a weary edge to his voice. Lupin looked doubtful.

"The Knight Bus will be safer, Harry. We don't know anything about the person who provided these."

"If she'd wanted to hurt me, she had plenty of opportunities before you got here," Harry pointed out obstinately. "She was just a witch out practicing Transilientis Charms. She offered me choices and helped me, and sent the note for me, but she didn't try to make me do anything I didn't want to do." _Like get jolted around when my stomach could erupt at any moment._

After a thoughtful look at Harry, Lupin raised his wand and appeared to be using it to test the bikes, his eyes flicking back and forth between them and his wand, still held outstretched in front of him. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with them," he conceded at last, lowering his wand, "although we can't be certain of that without much more comprehensive testing." He looked over at Harry. "How about if we switch? So at least I'm riding yours if there's something I've missed."

Harry nodded his agreement and handed over the bike, biting his tongue to keep from saying any more. He understood that Remus was trying to look out for him, but he wasn't sure how _Remus_ dying was supposed to be any more acceptable than if Harry did. He didn't want anyone else dying for him – but he was the one stuck because of Voldemort and the stupid prophecy, and he didn't really have a choice. If he started to say anything now, as rotten as he was already feeling and in the mood he was in, he would undoubtedly say something horrible to Remus, who certainly didn't deserve it. So Harry kept his mouth shut.

They rode back to Privet Drive in silence, Lupin seeming to understand that Harry did not want to talk just then. As they arrived at the end of the street, he saw Moody and Kingsley Shaklebolt in agitated conference outside Mrs. Figg's house just a little further down the street from number four. Remus slowed to a stop at the end of Harry's street and signaled to them as he dismounted from the borrowed bicycle.

Harry reluctantly dismounted as well. Riding a bike wasn't nearly as good as flying, even after he got the hang of it, but he wasn't allowed to fly right now and this was sort of close to it. He got to be by himself, quietly, to think what he wished or just let his mind go blank and feel the wind in his hair. He wheeled the bicycle silently over to Remus, who looked at him very searchingly again as he accepted it.

"I think we need to talk, Harry," he said quietly.

"Not tonight please," Harry replied just as softly. "I don't feel well, and I'm just not up to it."

"All right, Harry. I'll stop by again in a day or so."

"Well, boy?" Moody barked at Harry as he and Kingsley came hurrying up. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"It's nothing to fuss about, Alastor," Lupin interceded. "Harry, I can fill them in if you want to head into the house." Harry nodded his thanks and left without another word.


	8. Aftermath

Remus settled Moody down, agreeing with him that someone needed to speak to Dumbledore about Mundungus while managing to talk the irritable former Auror out of "having a word" with Harry.  Harry hadn't looked as though a lecture from Alastor would have been well received.  Then Remus discreetly vanished the bicycles and Apparated home.

Once there, he made himself a cup of tea and sat down in his father's old chair to think.  Dumbledore had said of Harry that "Sirius' death changed him – and not for the better" in the alternate universe that had produced Alex.  If the people involved were essentially the same, and Sirius had died there, then Remus' alternate self would have tried to provide support for Harry in the same ways Remus would have, but it had not been enough.  Dumbledore had known that what he was doing was unlikely to be effective, but he had not been willing to make any drastic changes in his approach.  Instead of giving Harry – and possibly Sirius – the information that would have prevented Sirius' death, Dumbledore had increased his warnings to Sirius to stay at Grimmauld Place – the same warnings he had given before Alex arrived.  Considered logically, it meant that Remus' normal response to Harry's grief – even if intensified – would not be effective.  Helping Harry through this would require something else, something Remus would not normally have provided. 

He needed to figure out what that was before it was too late.

----------

Harry received Remus' owl suggesting a time for Remus to visit with mixed feelings.  Although he scrawled a hasty acceptance and sent it back immediately, he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to Remus.  It was nothing against Remus, who had never been anything but kind and understanding, it was just that Harry didn't want to talk to _anyone_. 

In a twisted way, he was actually relieved to be back with the Dursleys, who had no interest in speaking with him at all, instead of at The Burrow or the new headquarters of the Order.  Without Sirius to control Kreacher – for whatever good that had done – Grimmauld Place was no longer safe and the Order had needed to relocate.  If he was sent to the new headquarters later in the summer – he didn't really care at the moment and didn't bother even to ask – at least he wouldn't have the pain of walking around Sirius' home and knowing that he would never return.

Ron and Hermione both wrote him frequently, with some of their letters being hand-delivered by members of the Order checking on Harry.  Where once he had looked forward eagerly to hearing from his friends, he now found their letters vaguely irritating.  The loss of his godfather still occupied his thoughts, with Dumbledore's revelations about the prophecy weighing heavily on him any time Sirius' death was not uppermost in his mind.  He didn't want to write about the first and he certainly wasn't ready to share the second, which made trying to thing of something to say to either of them nearly impossible.  However a combination of manners and prudence (he didn't want them bringing the Order down on him with news that he wasn't replying at all) forced him to produce at least brief, non-committal replies to each of these missives. 

It was something of a chore, as was the task of meeting with Lupin.

Remus chose a time for his visit well.  When he rang the bell at number four, Privet Drive, dressed in simple, if rather shabby Muggle clothes, Uncle Vernon was at work, Aunt Petunia had gone into the city for the sales, and Dudley was at some sort of special summer wresting camp for which Uncle Vernon had cheerfully paid a substantial fee.

"Hullo," Harry greeted him rather listlessly.

"Hello, Harry," Remus replied simply.  Harry was briefly thankful that Lupin had sense enough not to ask how Harry was doing in painfully hushed tones, or to remark with a falsely cheerful air about how _well_ Harry looked.  When they were seated in Aunt Petunia's stiffly ordered drawing room, Harry wondered belatedly if he should have offered some refreshment, but his former professor spoke before Harry could say anything.

"Harry, I didn't come to talk to you about the incident a few days ago."

"No?"  Harry said skeptically.  "I was sure Moody wanted you to bawl me out for just swallowing that story about changing the assembly point without checking it out."

"Oh, he did, but that's still not why I'm here."  Lupin took a deep breath before saying, "I wanted to talk to you about how I reacted to what happened in 1981."

"When Voldemort murdered my parents?" Harry blurted out, surprised.

"Those events, but that wasn't quite how I saw it at the time," Lupin said very carefully. 

Harry felt his stomach roll.  If Lupin, of all people, started in about Harry saving them from Voldemort, Harry thought he might lose it. 

Something of this must have shown on this face, for his former professor, after glancing at Harry's rigid expression, said, "I don't mean that I saw you any differently, Harry.  You were always the much-beloved son of my very dear friends.  I meant that, well, I didn't just lose James and Lily, I also felt that I had lost Sirius and Peter."

"But Wormtail –" Harry started to protest.

"I know that now, Harry, but I didn't then.  At the time, I thought that Peter had actually died, still loyal, and in a way, Sirius died too.  The person I thought I knew could never have betrayed James, so I concluded that I hadn't known him at all.  A stranger was sent to Azkaban, and I mourned the death of an illusion."  There was a stoic pain on Remus' face that touched something in Harry.  "The three of them were very important to me.  After all those years of friendship and everything we'd been through together, suddenly all of them were just _gone_."  Remus paused, adding "I didn't handle it very well," with some difficulty before he fell silent.

Harry struggled silently, both to come up with some idea of what Lupin could possibly have done that would make him say he "didn't handle it very well" and to figure out what to say.

"Did you, er, go on a bender or something?" he ventured finally.  Remus looked startled, and then gave a wistful grimace.

"Nothing that healthy, I'm afraid.  It would have been better if I had."  He took a deep breath.  "I just stopped _confiding_ in people.  I _talked_ to people, you understand, but I didn't _confide_ in them.  I lost my friends, and I stopped forming real friendships, although I didn't realize it at the time."

"But everybody likes you," Harry blurted out in instinctive protest.

"There are a number of people who like what they know of me," Lupin corrected, "but I've been very careful – much _too_ careful – not to let them know too much.  The things that were really important to me, I kept to myself.  I even control some fairly ordinary behaviors that most people would probably understand, and I didn't even realize how much I did that until Sirius came back." 

Remus gave a half-smile despite the sheen of tears in his eyes.  "Sirius wouldn't let me.  He knew me too well to let me get away with it, which is one of the extraordinary gifts of real friendship – but we could never have become such friends if I had kept him at the same distance I've kept most people since the first time I lost him.  Real relationships – not the superficial ones, but the ones that matter – require risk.  You have to trust other people with parts of yourself you'd prefer to protect."  His father's friend was looking at Harry with an expression in his eyes that brought tears to the teenager's.  "It's _worth _it, Harry.  I'd forgotten for a while, but Sirius reminded me, and even when the pain of losing him is so sharp that I don't know how I manage to keep breathing, I still believe it was worth it."

The oppressive weight of pain in Harry's chest welled up with the tears that spilled down his cheeks, and the pain he'd been trying to stifle overwhelmed him.  "I _miss_ him," he managed to choke out.  "I _miss _him and I want him _back_!"  Somehow he was holding on to Lupin's thin frame like a life preserver, not caring that he was bawling like a baby and leaving damp patches of hot tears splotched on Remus' well-worn shirt.

"I know, Harry, I miss him too."  Harry realized later that Lupin must have been crying as well as Harry's own tears would hardly have wet the back of his shirt, but he was helplessly caught in the throes of his emotional storm and didn't grasp this at the time.

"Why did he have to go?  Why couldn't he just have stayed at Grimmauld Place?"

"I know," Remus repeated nonsensically.

"Why did _I_ have to go?  How could I let Voldemort trick me like that?"

"It wasn't your fault, Harry, you didn't know."  Remus' voice cracked.  "It was ours.  We should have told you instead of trying to protect you."

"Why does it have to be _me_?" Harry demanded, referring obscurely to a whole host of injustices he didn't want to catalogue.

"It isn't fair," Remus agreed immediately, and there wasn't much to say after that while Harry cried himself out.

-----------

Harry felt oddly drained afterwards, as though he'd been doing something incredibly exhausting rather than just shedding a few tears.  He was also strangely hungry for the first time since it had happened, so after Remus left, Harry made himself a sandwich and finished it before Aunt Petunia came home.  He was upstairs in his room when she returned and fell asleep on his bed shortly after ignoring a single call to supper, which was from Uncle Vernon and more like a bellow.  Harry slept surprisingly well.

He woke late the next morning and found Hedwig watching him gravely.  Harry had kept adding to her food and water dishes automatically, but it was quite a while since he'd really cleaned out her cage.

"I'm sorry, Hedwig," he told her ruefully.  "I haven't been taking very good care of you lately.  I'll clean out your cage right away."  She fluttered over to settle on his shoulder as he sat up in bed, and then nipped gently at his fingers.  Harry lifted a hand to stroke her gently.  "I've been a prat, haven't I?  After I take care of you, I'd better see what I can do to make up with Ron and Hermione."  Remus had said he would try to arrange for a visit, but Harry didn't think he should wait.

After giving Hedwig's cage the thorough cleaning it deserved – Harry had to go downstairs to get fresh newspaper to line the bottom of her cage but Aunt Petunia, busily poring over a magazine that promised to tell the reader how to "Grow Award-Winning Perennials Your Neighbor Will Envy" and "Make YOUR Borders the Best!" had done no more than glance up at him and purse her lips before returning to her reading – Harry went to his desk to write to Ron and Hermione.  It was covered with parchment where Harry had just tossed their letters to him in a pile, so he straightened them up a bit and sorted them out into order.  He read through Ron's last note again, which he had not yet answered.

_Harry,_

_I'm not supposed to say anything about your coming to visit later or they won't let you, but hang in there and maybe the summer won't be a total washout.  Depending on when you come, we might be able to get tickets to a Quidditch match – won't be the World Cup, but should be fun anyway.  One of Charlie's old teammates is a Chaser for the Appleby Arrows, and he thinks he can get tickets for the match against the Wimbourne Wasps.  It should be a good one._

_Now that the Ministry has changed its tune, Percy is talking to Mum and Dad again.  He started acknowledging Dad's presence at work and Dad just up and invited him over to dinner!  He's coming a week from Sunday, and watching Mum fuss about which of his favorite dishes to serve is enough to make me vomit.  I was about to tell them exactly what I think of old Perce, but Ginny pulled me aside and told me not to.  Said there was no point in trying to argue with the parents about it, and that we ought to leave it to the twins.  They've been living over the shop in Diagon Alley, but Ginny fixed it so they're coming for dinner when Percy does.  _

_Don't let the Muggles get you down – _

_Ron_

Then Harry noticed a tiny postscript at the bottom of the parchment, in writing even less legible than Ron's usual scrawl.

_P.S. – I know I've said it before, but I'm really sorry about Snuffles.  Please write back anyway._

Harry located some fresh parchment and a quill and settled down to write.

_Ron,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been writing much back – I guess I've been a bit of a prat lately.  Losing Snuffles hurt more than anything else ever has, even the stuff from the end of fourth year.  I'm not very good at this I guess, but thanks for writing to me even when I'm being a jerk._

_Sorry about the business with Percy.  I think Ginny's right – no point in having your mum mad at you.  I expect Fred and George will have some good ideas, and they can always leave if things get too sticky.  At least your parents may be feeling better._

_Things aren't as bad here as you might think.  Moody frightened the Muggles enough that they really aren't bothering me, and I haven't felt up to much anyway.  I would like to get to see another professional Quidditch match.  If I'm not allowed to really leave here, maybe they'll still let me come for the day._

_Harry_

He looked it over when he finished.  It still wasn't a lot, and it was certainly not cheerful, but it was more than the brusque, single-sentence replies which had been all he'd been able to manage for a while.  He had been in too much pain even to be able to refer to it before.  He folded the letter to Ron up and turned to Hermione's latest, which he hadn't bothered to open yet.

_Harry,_

_I know you probably don't feel much like writing, but I do wish you would, at least to Ron.  And I mean a real letter, not one of the sharp little answers you keep sending that don't actually say anything.  Ginny says he looks like he wants to hit something every time he gets one.  She's been taking him out for Quidditch practice afterwards, which seems to help, but there's no reason to upset him like that, particularly when they're all upset enough about Percy to begin with.  We're all sorry about Snuffles, but there's nothing we can do – especially if you won't even talk to us._

_I'll be leaving soon, as my parents are taking me on holiday to __France__ again, then on to __Switzerland__ and __Austria__.  The __Vratsa__ Vultures have a match in the area, against __Poland__ I think, so Viktor may be able to meet up with us while we're there.  I'll be in __Austria__ when O.W.L. results are due out, but I've written to Professor McGonagall to give her our itinerary and she assured me that the results will be forwarded so I won't have to wait until I get back to find out how I did.  These exams are so critical to our futures that I'm not sure how I'll cope if I don't do well.  I guess the only thing to do is to hope I do better on my N.E.W.T.'s.  I'm taking along my practice materials so I don't fall too far behind while we're on holiday._

_I'm going to keep writing to you, Harry, whether you want me to or not and even if you keep sending back the same type of replies – or no replies at all.  I'd rather you wrote to Ron.  Please do, Harry, he's really worried about you._

_Still your friend,_

_Hermione_

Harry rolled his eyes a bit before starting to ink a response.

_Hermione,_

_I wrote to Ron._

He was tempted to leave it there, but it was probably too much like the answers he had been sending before to settle her down, so he continued.

_I also had a talk with Professor Lupin – I guess I didn't realize how much he'd been missing Snuffles too – and that helped a bit.  I wasn't trying to upset Ron, I just haven't been myself lately.  There's some other stuff I can't write about, but I'll tell you and Ron about it later, maybe when we're back at school if we don't see each other in person before then._

_I hope you have a good trip.  Tell Viktor I said 'Hi' and __wis__h him luck with the Vultures.  I didn't know he'd signed with them, but they're lucky to have him.  _

_Don't worry about your O.W.L.'s, I'm sure you made top marks._

_Harry_

Harry sealed this up as well, and looked over at Hedwig, who had been flitting in and out of her cage now that it was restored to order. 

"There's two of them, do you mind?" he asked, and she settled down on the desk and presented a leg in response.  "Thanks," he added as he finished fastening them, and Hedwig hooted softly in reply before disappearing out the window.


	9. The Fragments that Remain

The tone of Ron's return owl was so relieved that Harry felt guilty all over again for the way he had treated Ron and Hermione. Remus did arrange to bring Ron over for a visit one Wednesday afternoon just after Harry had received his O.W.L. results. Aunt Petunia had taken Dudley shopping – Harry wasn't sure whether this was coincidental or arranged, but he didn't ask – so Harry was able to take Ron up and show him his room without subjecting his best friend to the Dursleys' rudeness.

Ron recognized the parchment containing the results of Harry's examinations as soon as he saw it on the desk.

"So, how were your marks?" Ron asked, then made a face, "or shouldn't I ask? I only scraped a 'P' on Divination myself, but at least we never have to take it again."

"It wasn't so bad with Firenze, although none of his stuff was on the exam. That was my worst too. DADA was the best," Harry said, trying to sound casual. However Ron had been his best friend for a while now.

"You scored an '_O_'?" Ron demanded, and Harry grinned. "Harry, that's _brilliant_! Better than Percy even!"

Still grinning, Harry sat down on his bed. "Well, it was only one exam," he said modestly. "The rest of my marks were pretty average. Did better in Potions than I expected, but not very well in Astronomy."

"Can't be blamed for that, considering what was going on at the end," Ron shrugged. "Dad heard there was some discussion about throwing out the results for that one, but the Ministry quashed it. Wouldn't have been able to let everyone sit for another one right away with school let out for the year, so it wouldn't have done much good anyway. Not like we all _wanted_ to keep studying Astronomy so we could sit for it again."

"Hermione would have," Harry pointed out, and Ron rolled his eyes. "Her last letter said that she was taking her schoolwork on holiday with her so that she could keep practicing for N.E.W.T.'s."

"Fred and George had the right idea," Ron grumbled. "Leave school when you've learnt what you can and to hell with N.E.W.T.'s."

"How are they doing?"

"They're keeping Percy on his toes, I can tell you that! The joke shop is still doing well, and they came to supper wearing those dragonskin jackets. Old Perce's eyes bulged when he saw them," Ron gloated. "So then Percy started going on about 'The Minister' this and 'The Minister' that just as he used to go on about Crouch, and every time he did, Fred or George would ask if he meant the same one who insisted that You-Know – _Voldemort_," Ron corrected himself, "was never coming back. Took the wind right out of Percy's sails every time."

"That's all they did?" Harry questioned. "I thought they might, I don't know, slip him a Canary Cream or something."

"I thought they would too, but Ginny thought this was better, and I think she may be right," Ron said thoughtfully. "They seemed – I dunno – more grown up or something. And Percy just looked like the git he is instead of like the _good_ one. If Fred and George had pulled any pranks on Percy, Mum would have ticked them off good and proper, and then she and Dad would have been trying to make it up to him. If I had to watch Percy lording it over all of us, while Mum and Dad tried to be _nice_ to him –" Angry spots of color appeared in Ron's cheeks.

"How's Ginny?" Harry asked, mostly to distract Ron from thoughts of his priggish older brother.

"Same," Ron shrugged. "Bill lets her use his broom when he's around, and she's been helping me practice. Did Dumbledore say anything about lifting your lifetime Quidditch ban?" he asked hopefully. "We could really use you back on the team. You're a better seeker than Ginny is, and she says she could switch to a Chaser position."

"He didn't mention it, but I hope so," Harry said tightly, his throat closing as he recalled his last interview with the Headmaster. It had been immediately after Sirius' death.

Ron took one look at Harry's expression and fell silent.

"Harry –"

"Ron –"

They both broke the silence at the same time.

"You first," Ron prompted.

"Well," Harry took a deep breath. "I haven't – I couldn't talk about it before, but, that night –" Harry felt that crushing pressure in his chest but forced himself to continue, "Dumbledore told me about the prophecy."

"Yeah?" Ron looked very anxious.

"One of us has to kill the other."

Ron's eyes were huge. "You mean you have to –"

"Yeah."

"Or else he –"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, mate," Ron said at last, sounding very shaken. "That's really –"

"Yeah," Harry said again. Then he added, "I don't think anyone is supposed to know."

"I won't say anything," Ron vowed immediately. "Er, you know that if there's ever anything I can do . . ." Harry could see the concern shining from Ron's eyes, and the chokehold of pain in his chest eased very slightly.

"Thanks, Ron."

"Well," Ron said prosaically after a time, "at least you scored an 'O' on your DADA O.W.L."

----------

Telling Ron had been difficult, but Harry was glad that he'd done it. He didn't have an opportunity to tell Hermione until mid-August, when all three of them were finally under one roof at the new headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. As Grimmauld Place was no longer secure – the Headmaster was clearing it out and closing it up – the headquarters had been relocated to the home of Sturgis Podmore. Sturgis was still recovering from his time in Azkaban, and seemed very anxious to have other people around him whenever possible.

Unfortunately, Sturgis' home was, not surprisingly, rather smaller than Grimmauld Place, and only had four bedrooms. While this was more than enough space for Sturgis, the addition of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in one bedroom, Hermione and Ginny in another, and Harry and Ron in a third meant that Remus Lupin ended up sleeping on a folding bed set up in the study downstairs. Harry felt very guilty about this, but Remus assured him that he was quite comfortable and firmly refused any of the alternative arrangements Harry suggested.

"Sturgis already offered to let me share with him," Remus told him. "He even offered to switch and take the study himself. And Arthur and Molly offered to take the girls in with them, but the current arrangement suits me fine, and it has a number of advantages the others do not."

"What advantages?"

"The presence of a qualified wizard on the ground floor near the stairs," Remus pointed out gently.

Harry's expression was stricken as he absorbed this.

"I don't anticipate any problems, Harry, but that doesn't mean it's not better to be prepared," Remus reassured him quickly, "and really, I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."

Harry nodded grimly, and let it go.

Hermione, when informed of Lupin's view of the sleeping arrangements, accepted it immediately without further discussion. Harry wished her reaction to his news about the prophecy had been the same.

Hermione, as usual, wanted to know more, but was stymied by the lack of research opportunities. She quickly exhausted Harry's memory for details by pressing him for the exact wording of the prophecy and anything else Professor Dumbledore had said that might provide any insight into its meaning. But once she had every scrap of information Harry could provide, she hit a dead end. Hermione wished fretfully that they were back at Hogwarts where she could go to the library until Ron rounded on her and told her that not everything important in life could be found in a book!

This effectively shut her up on the subject, for which Harry was profoundly grateful, although he caught her several times standing in Sturgis' library with an expression of intense frustration on her face. Sturgis' parents had been Muggles, and most of the reading material in the library was devoid of any information on magic. Mr. Weasley was in his element, but Hermione was much less appreciative.

----------

"_Expecto__ Patronum!_"

Nothing happened.

Again.

Alex felt like hurling her wand through the wall.

She had made excellent progress in the three subjects she had been studying – DADA, Charms, and Transfiguration. She was even an Animagus – quite illicitly, and admittedly most of that had come from Albus – but _why_ couldn't she conjure a Patronus?

"I think you need to let this one go, Alex."

"I managed the rest of them," she gritted out with defiant determination. "I intended to _master_ these three subjects before I move on to any others, and I don't see any reason to change that now." Her hostess sighed.

"Alex, I don't think you can do this right now. If you keep trying, you'll only get more frustrated and you're wasting time that could be used working on something else. How often do you expect to encounter a Dementor anyway?"

"It's more likely now that Voldemort is the one issuing orders to them, not to mention the fact that a Patronus can be used for other things." Her hostess regarded her with sympathy.

"Alex, you're a joy to teach in many ways – smart, disciplined, eager to learn – but I don't think you're going to produce a Patronus at this point," the older woman told her with unusual gentleness in her expression despite her matter-of-fact tone and incipient headache.

Alex had great focus and concentration, and her hostess guessed that Alex's life had been fairly happy and quite normal until recently, but her single-minded devotion to her present objective didn't leave room for much else – like emotion. The happy memory used in the Patronus Charm was just the mechanism for accessing the caster's capacity for happiness; the caster needed to be able to feel that in the _present_ in order to use it to generate a Patronus. Alex was regaining her physical strength, but her emotional control was still too rigid for her teacher's comfort.

_As long as you're so focused on shutting down your emotions and treating this like a job, you're not going to be able to feel much of anything, and won't start healing 'til you do, _her hostess thought grimly._ Can't keep this up forever; nothing to do but wait for it. No point in trying to tell you, wouldn't make any difference._

Alex's jaw set. "Let's try it again."

The old woman repressed a sigh.

-------------

"The box I mentioned is in the library," Dumbledore said to Lupin quietly. Harry's former professor just nodded, and Harry wondered for a moment if there was something amiss between them.

"Harry, would you like to join me?" Remus asked, setting his coffee cup down and rising to leave.

"Sure," Harry rose obligingly to follow, not sure what this meant.

They entered into the library – the books were arranged by the color of the bindings rather than by subject, but the effect was pretty enough. What looked like a small packing box was sitting neatly in the center of the desk. Lupin looked oddly reluctant to open it.

"Is it dangerous?" Harry asked, as Remus said nothing.

"No." Seeing Harry's look of inquiry, he explained, "It's a box of Sirius' personal effects. Dumbledore had to have Grimmauld Place cleaned out for security reasons, of course, and there were some personal items left that he wanted me to sort out for you." He sighed. "I suppose there's no point in putting this off," he said, striding forward grimly to lift off the cover. Harry followed him to the desk, not sure what to expect.

There wasn't much.

Photos, some newspaper clippings, a small black book, and a souvenir program. That was it.

Harry felt a sudden wave of emotion hit him again, but this time the familiar pain was overshadowed by anger. An entire _life_, and this was all that was left of it. There hadn't been a body, or a funeral, and now the contents of this small box was all that remained of his godfather.

"_Bloody hell,_" Remus swore, and the shock of hearing it jarred Harry back to attention. Remus' jaw was clenched, and he raised a hand to rub at his forehead.

"Sorry, Harry, I shouldn't have said that," he apologized bleakly after a short interval. "We'd better get this sorted out."

Remus methodically sorted the photographs into two piles, explaining that he already had most of them himself, but wanted to make copies of some that he didn't have before giving Harry the originals. Many of the photos were of the others in their group of four friends from Sirius' days at Hogwarts – James, Remus, and Peter – but Sirius appeared himself in some group shots, and there were several of Harry's father and a few that included his mother as well. There were also some family pictures, and Remus had to identify the subjects for Harry. There were even a few pictures of Regulus Black, Sirius' brother who had been killed a long time ago.

"I thought they didn't get along?" Harry asked, puzzled about why Sirius had kept the pictures.

"They didn't," Remus confirmed, "but Regulus was his brother. Sirius didn't like him very well – their values were certainly very different – but he was still a member of his family, and that matters. Sirius didn't cry at the funeral, but he cried in his sleep after it. He was staying with your family that night, and it woke James up." There was a distant look in Remus' eyes as he spoke as if he were seeing things Harry couldn't. "James was the brother of his heart, but there was a part of Sirius that always regretted that he and Regulus couldn't seem to get along."

Most of the newspaper clippings were fairly recent, and about Harry. Sirius had even kept the picture of the Weasleys with Scabbers. The oldest item in the box was the souvenir program, which was from the 418th Quidditch World Cup of 1978.

"We all went together after graduation," Lupin explained wistfully as he handed it to Harry. "We meant to go to the next one together too – make it a tradition – but that didn't happen." Harry calculated quickly that the next Quidditch World Cup would have taken place in the summer of 1982 and accepted it without comment.

"What's the book?" he asked. Remus glanced into the box and smiled for the first time.

"That's for you, Harry, although I suspect it's pretty close to blank if it isn't entirely." Harry picked it up gingerly, the black leather cover soft and unmarked. "I just gave it to him for his birthday in May. I was trying to get him to start keeping a diary – partially for you, but mostly to distract him. I doubt it was very successful." Remus pulled out his wand and vanished the now-empty box, adding fondly, "Sirius wasn't much of a writer."

Harry opened it quickly to see, and found a few brief entries in his godfather's scrawling handwriting. It wasn't much, but it was something, and Sirius had meant it for him.

"Thanks," he said, and meant it.

Lupin gathered up the few photographs he wanted to have copied. "I'll get these back to you very soon," he promised.

"That's okay, there's no hurry," Harry said, picking up the rest of the material on the desk and following him out.

They parted in the hallway as Harry carried Sirius' things up to the room he was sharing with Ron. He was sitting on his bed just staring at them when Ron and Hermione came in.

"What's up?" Ron asked, looking at the piles on Harry's bed.

"It's – they're Sirius' things," Harry said awkwardly. "Some stuff he wanted me to have."

Ron had been walking naturally over to look, but he stopped in the middle of the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"We could come back later," he offered clumsily. Hermione, who was still in the doorway, just looked sympathetic.

Harry opened his mouth to agree to this, but remembered what Remus had told him in the Dursleys' drawing room and found himself saying, "No, it's all right. I don't mind if you're here."

Ron smiled at him in nervous relief, then looked like he wasn't sure smiling was appropriate and just looked nervous.

"It looks like there are a lot of photographs," Hermione interjected kindly, advancing to sit on the edge of the bed after a swift look at Ron. "Are there any good ones of Sirius?"

"Some," Harry admitted. "Remus has a few more that he wanted to make copies of before he gives them to me. There are also some with my parents," he added, spreading them out like a fan on the bedcover so he could find the one he was thinking of and pull it out. "This one of him and my dad is a good one."

Ron came forward to see, and Harry scooted back so Ron could have a seat too.

"Maybe you could get it framed," Hermione suggested.

"Maybe," Harry agreed.

"The Quidditch World Cup?" Ron asked, picking up the program.

"They all went after graduation."

"Oh."

"What about the book?" Hermione asked.

"It's a diary. I haven't read it yet. There's not much there." Harry opened it again, leafing through it quickly without trying to decipher the scrawl. "He didn't have it very long, and Remus said he wasn't much of a writer."

"Are you going to read it?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, and flipped back to the first page. The entries were undated, and the first one was brief enough that Harry decided to read it aloud.

> > > _M suggested this. Odd idea – not my thing. Probably only giving me something to do, but then he said one day I might enjoy sharing it with H or his kids. _
>>> 
>>> _H with **kids** – what an idea! _
>>> 
>>> _Can't say much in here, but still – hate it when he's right._
>>> 
>>> _Door set dear old Mum off – gotta go. _
>>> 
>>> _(later)_
>>> 
>>> _There has **got** to be a way to get that thing unstuck. _

"Who's 'M'?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked superior. "_Moony_," she pointed out.

"Oh, yeah." Ron looked a little embarrassed.

Harry turned the page and kept reading.__

> > > _Rotten day.__ Still here. _
>>> 
>>> _M wants to help, but I'm stuck and he isn't. _
>>> 
>>> _Miss H. _
>>> 
>>> _Total arse all day (me, not M).__ M finally called me a prat, prompting glorious play duel in kitchen. Two hours to clean up, but worth it. Feel much better. _
>>> 
>>> _S'pose__ that's why he did it.___

"Professor Lupin started a _fight_ with him to make him feel better?" Ron said, puzzled.

"Actually, I think it was rather clever of him," Hermione approved.

"This would go faster if the two of you would stop commenting after every entry," Harry pointed out.

"Sorry," Ron said sheepishly, and Hermione looked apologetic.

> > > _Odd night.__ Bored out of my skull until mystery woman appears on doorstep near death. Collapses into M's arms, barely speaks – I'll call her Madame X. At least it was a change. _
>>> 
>>> _Wanted D, had to call S too. 'Nuff said about THAT._
>>> 
>>> _X asleep now, M to fuss – better him than me.___
>>> 
>>> _Miss H. Others too, but H most. _
>>> 
>>> _Buckbeak sleeping when I went up – guess that's one way to pass the time._
>>> 
>>> _------------_
>>> 
>>> _X still unconscious – not exactly entertaining, but at least M not hovering over me. Doesn't totally stop me behaving badly, but know I'm doing it when he's around. _
>>> 
>>> _Don't know why he puts up with me._
>>> 
>>> _------------_
>>> 
>>> _M upset about X – D wanted her kept under but M didn't agree. Told M to f%! D, but nicely (for me). _
>>> 
>>> _M right as usual._
>>> 
>>> _X now even more of a mystery. Worried I was dead – very odd. Most people would be happy. Still technically alive, but practically in prison. What I wouldn't give to get out of here – even for guard duty! _
>>> 
>>> _Thought of polyjuice, but not much in the potions line myself and that one takes forever. Won't ask the git. _
>>> 
>>> _Has to be another way to escape, just for a bit.___
>>> 
>>> _-----------_
>>> 
>>> _Finally got D to set a date for H to come – D insists tentative only, but still something. Get through next bit and H will be here for a while. _
>>> 
>>> _Miss H. Hell – still miss J. _
>>> 
>>> _H hasn't used mirror. Wish he would._

Harry's voice had been a bit unsteady as he read the previous entry, but it cracked then. He wordlessly handed it to Hermione, who was kind enough not to say anything about it but simply picked up at the next entry.

> > > _Heard scream – ran in to find X now awake. Says only startled waking in a strange place. _
>>> 
>>> _Don't know why **I** don't scream every time I wake up in here, so can't blame her. _
>>> 
>>> _X really an A – must switch. _
>>> 
>>> _Apologized nicely for screaming, but not otherwise informative.__ Spoke to D in bathroom(?). _
>>> 
>>> _Not much info on H now, and still nothing in mirror. Suppose he's revising for O.W.L.'s._
>>> 
>>> _Patience is not my best quality._
>>> 
>>> _------------_
>>> 
>>> _A (when conscious) pleasant company, but only for meals.__ Still invalid. Pity. A gets my jokes – not just the obvious ones, but the ones M gets too. Not much to laugh about now, but nice to be appreciated. _
>>> 
>>> _Good bones. Probably pretty enough when not nearly dead. No prize myself at present._
>>> 
>>> _It's approaching 'that time' for M. Like potion but hate the greasy git who brings it. _
>>> 
>>> _Hope H does better than expected on O.W.L. in Potions. Serve him right._

"_Harry?_ _Ron_?" It was Mrs. Weasley's voice that interrupted them. Ron rolled his eyes and went to the doorway.

"Yes, Mum?" he called back.

"Suppertime. We're all waiting for you," she told them tartly. Hermione handed the diary back to Harry, who stuffed it hastily under his pillow.

"We're _coming_," Ron retorted, looking back apologetically.

Dinner was up to Mrs. Weasley's usual standard of excellence, and Harry ate heartily, although with part of his mind trying to puzzle out what he'd read – and heard – of Sirius' diary. The mysterious 'Madame X' Sirius had mentioned had arrived at Grimmauld Place despite the Fidelius Charm. It would seem as though she were a member of the Order, but why hadn't Sirius known her before she woke up?

"I'll find it for you, Arthur," Lupin was saying kindly, rising to his feet.

"No need for that, Remus, you haven't had your coffee yet," Mr. Weasley protested.

"I'll have it when I get back, it will only take me a moment."

Mr. Weasley's first name began with an 'A' and he was in the Order. Harry ran through the names he could remember – _Arthur, Alastor, Albus I suppose, but that can't be right. I think Neville's mother was an __Alice__, but that doesn't seem likely._

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley was looking very confused.

"What? Sorry," he apologized quickly.

"You've never called me 'Arthur' before," Mr. Weasley pointed out with an air of bewildered injury.

"I wasn't," Harry assured him immediately.

"But I just heard –"

"Harry was just trying to remember the names of everyone in the Order," Hermione said, darting a glance at him. "Starting with those whose first names begin with an 'A'." This seemed a very weak explanation to Harry, but Mr. Weasley, still looking rather confused, apparently accepted it.

"Well, there's Aberforth Dumbledore and Arabella Figg," he offered gamely.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who seemed to be biting her lip.

"Is that everyone with a first name beginning with an 'A'?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley agreed, looking a bit like an agreeable guest playing a party game he didn't understand. "Then there's Bill unless you want to consider him a 'W', then Charlie, and Dedalus Diggle, and Elphias –"

"Found it," Lupin announced pleasantly, striding back in with a narrow yellow book in one hand. "There's a whole section on the operation of electric generators in the second chapter." Mr. Weasley's face lit up and he hopped up to accept the book with obvious pleasure.

"You _did_! I must show Molly," he muttered absently, hurrying off.

Remus helped himself to a cup of coffee, and Harry felt Hermione's foot nudging him under the table. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she jerked her head toward Lupin.

"Er, do you know any witches whose first names begin with an 'A'?" Harry asked.

Remus glanced at him mildly before taking up the sugar tongs to add a lump to his coffee.

"Is this a new sort of game?" he asked indulgently.

Harry shook his head. "I only asked because I was trying to figure out who it was who showed up at Grimmauld Place. Sirius mentioned her in his diary."

The coffee cup slipped out of Lupin's hand, crashed to the stone floor, and shattered.

Silence fell.

Remus seemed to be frozen in place, and then quick footsteps could be heard rushing toward the kitchen.

"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley demanded anxiously. "I heard a crash." The remains of his coffee cup were still on the floor in front of Remus, who seemed to be pulling himself together.

"My fault, I'm afraid, Molly," he said calmly without turning around, his expression oddly taut. "I dropped a coffee cup, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. Arthur's looking for you, though."

Mrs. Weasley cast a slightly doubtful look at his back before turning around and leaving again in search of her husband.

"_Poculum__ Reparo!_" Lupin directed the coffee cup, which reassembled itself obediently. He picked it up and set it on the counter before taking a towel and kneeling to mop up the spilled coffee.

"I'm sorry," Harry said uneasily. "I didn't mean to –"

"It's just a coffee cup, and I've fixed it," Lupin responded without looking up.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, but for once even Hermione didn't seem to know what to say. When Lupin was done drying the floor, he stood up and set the towel on the edge of the sink.

"I expect Sirius was referring to Alex," he told them in a very neutral tone. "Other than the Headmaster, Severus and I are the only ones in the Order who know about her, so it would probably be better if you didn't mention her to anyone else."

"There are secret members of the Order?" Harry asked.

"Alex isn't a member of the Order."

"But she showed up at Grimmauld Place!" Ron protested.

"The Fidelius Charm protected the secret that the headquarters of the Order at that time was located at Grimmauld Place," Lupin corrected. "Only the Secret-Keeper could choose to share that information, but he could share it with anyone."

Hermione looked like she was nobly refraining from pointing out that it was obvious non-members of the Order could be told the secret or the three students would not have been able to go to Grimmauld Place themselves.

"So, he told her where it was even though she isn't a member of the Order?" Harry questioned.

"Alex learned the location of the Order's headquarters through the Secret-Keeper," Remus replied in apparent agreement, although Harry wondered why he didn't just say 'yes' and be done with it.

"Why isn't she a member of the Order?" Hermione asked keenly. "If Professor Dumbledore trusted her with the location of the secret headquarters, why hasn't he invited her to join?"

Lupin hesitated. "It has nothing to do with the Headmaster trusting Alex," he said slowly, "but I'm afraid that Alex doesn't trust Dumbledore."

"_She_ doesn't trust _him?_" Harry demanded.

"She has her reasons, Harry," Remus defended immediately.

"_What_ reasons?"

"They had a disagreement about how something should be handled," Lupin said slowly. Harry sensed he was choosing his words very carefully, and Hermione's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Before Harry could formulate his next question, Lupin raised a hand to forestall him. "I don't think I can discuss this with you any further. I've probably said too much already about a matter that is really between the two of them. If you want to know any more, you will need to take it up with the Headmaster."

--------------

A/N - The last addition to another story I'm working on pushed me up over 100,000 words posted, which I'm rather pleased about. Of course, quantity is no substitute for quality, so constructive criticism is always appreciated.


	10. The Meaning of 'Second'

A/N – In response to a reviewer's question – and thank you for the encouragement, which was _much_ appreciated – I thought I'd pass along a few hints. This is going to be a fairly long story (Alex did come back more than five years, after all) so I hate to give _too_ much away too soon, but Remus does find Alex again before the end of 1996 – although that doesn't mean that he'll recognize her when he does – and the very elderly woman who is helping Alex with her education is a canon character who first appears near the end of OotP. The double update today is in appreciation for your interest.

------------------

By common consent, none of the trio said anything further about the matter until they had returned to the privacy of the boys' room and shut the door.

"_She_ doesn't trust _Dumbledore?_" Ron repeated in disbelief as soon as the door was closed.

"He's only human," Hermione pointed out coolly, "and quite fallible." Ron merely shook his head.

"Was Professor Lupin really, well, upset about something?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes," Hermione agreed instantly.

"Why would he be upset?" Ron asked.

"Maybe there's something else in the diary?" Hermione suggested. Harry retrieved it automatically and handed it to her as he sat down in the bed.

"Professor Dumbledore still must have told her about Grimmauld Place _before_ she became a member of the Order, even if he was thinking about asking her to join later," Harry mused aloud as Hermione quickly flipped through the small book to find where they'd left off before supper. "Why would he do that? It doesn't make any sense. Why didn't he just wait until after she'd agreed to become a member and tell her about it then?"

"Harry?" Hermione said in a very strange tone.

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I should be reading this," she said slowly, handing Sirius' diary back to him with her finger marking the page where they'd left off.

Harry accepted it with surprise, quickly finding the last entry and reading on silently. The first words of the next entry began, "_Amazing discovery this morning – M may be in love with A!"_ and Harry looked up sharply in surprise. Hermione met his eyes regretfully, and Harry acknowledged her glance with his own before returning to the diary. There were only three more entries.

> > > _Amazing discovery this morning – M may be in love with A! Went to get M to help with breakfast and saw them talking books (ugh!). Don't think she knows – harder to tell with him. Need more info on A._
>>> 
>>> _If she hurts M, may overcome my reluctance to do anything old Voldie wants and finish her off for him. Just a thought – _
>>> 
>>> _Still nothing from H.__ Tempted to use mirror myself, but refrained. Don't want to screw up his O.W.L.'s. Gave Buckbeak some extra rats and a rubdown instead. _
>>> 
>>> _Sudden maturity must be a sign of old age! _
>>> 
>>> _-----------_
>>> 
>>> _M definitely **gone** on A.__ Signs there if you're looking and know M, but doubt anyone else knows. _
>>> 
>>> _Never like this in school – guess he saved it up to take really hard all at once. Worried at first – the smartest people can be stupid about things like this – but now think A a good choice. Talks like M. Has brains and guts. Damned good at hiding things, but then so is he._
>>> 
>>> _Still nothing from H._
>>> 
>>> _Exams almost over, but results – and other 'tentative' plans – more than a month away, still closer to two! _
>>> 
>>> _Buckbeak hates being cooped up too.___
>>> 
>>> _-------------_
>>> 
>>> _I am the** biggest %!# **ever born, worth of every nasty thing S ever said about me. _
>>> 
>>> _Would never let S say so, but wouldn't argue with M if he did._
>>> 
>>> _Only meant to help him out a bit, let him unload. J would have talked about L for **days** if he could have persuaded anyone to listen that long. I bungled the thing so badly that M actually thought I meant **me** about A!_
>>> 
>>> _What's worse is the way he took it. Congratulated me! Looked wretched and trying to hide it – worse than when we confronted him about the wolf thing, or even when he found out how I'd f%!& up getting back at S – although last was more anger than agony. Only time I've ever seen M too angry to talk._
>>> 
>>> _Should have torn my tongue out before saying anything so stupid.__ M would never have screwed up like that. Don't deserve a friend like M._
>>> 
>>> _Got it straightened out, but he still didn't say much. Seems to be worried about the wolf thing. Probably harder when he's not even recovered from this moon, but A hasn't shown any signs of stupidity about it so far. Praying it won't be a problem. _
>>> 
>>> _M would never say a word against her if it did, but I'd hate to think what it would do to him._

The entries stopped there, and Harry closed the book and set it down.

"What is it?" Ron prompted when Harry didn't say anything.

"It was sort of – personal," Harry said awkwardly.

"Oh."

"Not about me, about Remus," he added.

"Are you going to tell him?" Hermione asked.

"I, er," Harry struggled, "do you think I should?"

"I don't know, Harry. I think it's up to you." Hermione's voice was very quiet, then she looked at him very shrewdly. "If you do decide to say something to him, I don't think there would be a problem with your telling him that you had only read the first part when you went downstairs for supper."

"Yeah, I guess I could do that," Harry said slowly. "If I don't say anything, he'll probably just keep wondering what Sirius wrote." He stood up. "I'll be back in a bit."

Remus was alone in the kitchen when Harry found him. The former professor was staring into the coffee he was stirring distractedly.

"Er," Harry hesitated near the doorway, not sure how to begin. The older man looked up with an automatic smile that seemed to stiffen in place when he caught sight of the small black book in Harry' hands.

"Come in, Harry," Remus suggested mildly. Harry walked slowly over to take the corner seat adjacent to him, setting the diary down on the table between them.

"I, er, I hadn't read the last few entries before supper," Harry explained awkwardly, nudging the diary toward Remus, who picked it up calmly, opened it to the first page, and began to read. His facial expression was very neutral as he read, and Harry couldn't see Remus' eyes, which were fixed on the pages as he turned them. When Lupin finished, he set the book down again on the table.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out.

Lupin quirked an eyebrow. "What for?" he returned lightly.

"Well, er," Harry stumbled and stopped.

"Harry, I could have read it before I gave it to you, and I didn't." Remus smiled at Harry again, but this time he met Harry's eyes. "It didn't even occur to me that Sirius would have written anything about me, but I'm not sorry to find that he did. I've been thinking a lot about how important Sirius was to me, and this was a reminder that I was important to him too." He said this so genuinely that Harry relaxed.

"Did he really, well, mess things up?" Harry asked, and Remus laughed.

"Well, yes, but he meant well," Lupin said indulgently. "He was trying to be tactful, it just didn't work out the way he expected – my fault, not his."

"Do you mind if I ask, well, what happened? With Alex, I mean." Harry was trying not to make it obvious that he was studying Remus' expression, but he was beginning to pick up on some of the subtler clues to how the older man was really feeling. Here, it was only a faint tightness about the eyes –

"Nothing happened," he replied calmly. "I haven't seen her since she left Grimmauld Place."

"Oh."

Remus smiled slightly. "You don't have to look so downcast about it, Harry. This sort of thing happens all the time."

"I just thought – er, never mind."

"It's a matter of priorities, Harry," Remus said quietly. "I don't know where Alex is at the moment, but it's not unlikely that my trying to make contact with her would put her in danger. That's not something I'm willing to do. But that doesn't mean I won't see her again in the future – or that I might not meet someone else I like in the interim."

"I suppose," Harry agreed aloud, and permitted Remus to change the subject.

-----------------

The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix drew to a close, the group having finalized the plans to escort Harry back to Hogwarts. A rather large group – dominated by Weasleys – would be taking the Knight Bus to the station where Harry and the other students could board the Hogwarts Express. The timing was the major point of contention, as they struggled to balance the need to ensure that the students made it safely on board the train with the desire to avoid exposing them to possible attack any longer than necessary while waiting for the train to depart the station. At the conclusion of the meeting, Remus rose to file out of the room with the others, but was stopped by Dumbledore's voice.

"Remus, would you mind waiting a few minutes? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Remus nodded, reseating himself and remaining in place. He maintained his composure even as Severus cast him a look of loathing even more venomous than usual and stalked from the room.

The Headmaster made his way over to Remus as Minerva closed the door behind her, leaving the two men alone in the room. Remus met Dumbledore's eyes and waited.

"Remus, I wanted to speak with you about a subject I raised some time ago," he began, "succession planning." Remus blinked.

"Are you speaking to all of us individually?" he asked, puzzled, "because it really isn't necessary. I'll continue to do whatever I can in the fight against Voldemort regardless of whom you choose." He thought he saw a momentary flicker of pain in those light eyes, but it was gone so quickly he might have imagined it.

"I was hoping you would volunteer to serve as my second," the Headmaster said quietly.

"_Me_?" Remus stared at him. "You're not serious?"

"Yes, I am."

"But – why me?" Remus sputtered, completely taken aback. "Moody's a much better fighter than I am! Or Minerva – she's very good herself, highly respected, and an excellent leader. Even Severus – he knows a great deal not just about the Dark Arts, but about our enemy and his inner circle. Why on earth –?"

"And that is _exactly_ why I was hoping you would volunteer," Dumbledore told him, regarding him with warm approval. "You look at the other members of the Order and see what they have to contribute, not what they lack. You bring out the best in people, Remus, and they respond to that."

"I – don't know what to say."

"Then perhaps I should do the talking for a while," the Headmaster replied simply. "I know that this has been hard for you lately because I failed you. I won't try to explain it, as I credit you with understanding the reasons for that failure at least as well as I do myself. Nor do I need to hear any reassurance from you that you won't allow your own feelings to interfere with your support for the Order; I already know that. I do want to talk to you a little about Severus."

"He wouldn't be happy about this," Remus pointed out, "and he's very important to the Order." _Not to mention the werewolf issue, which bothers me myself. What if they need a leader when there's a full moon?_

"True," Dumbledore agreed. "And he's also very important to me in a way I want to make sure you understand." He looked at Remus somewhat apologetically. "You probably don't want to hear this right now, but I've often thought that you and I were a lot alike. Severus is very different, but it is those differences that make him so valuable. His counsel has kept me from many mistakes over the years – he probably doesn't realize how many – and he would still be one of my most trusted advisors even if he were not the source of our best intelligence. No one who is too similar to you will ever see as many flaws in your thinking as someone who looks at everything in an entirely different way."

"You would want Severus to be my second," Remus concluded aloud.

"He is next after Minerva at the school." The Headmaster looked slightly rueful. "I seem to have done a better job in succession planning at Hogwarts than I have for the Order, but the omission can be remedied."

"Can I think about this? I hadn't considered myself in that role."

"Of course," the Headmaster agreed immediately. "Let me know what you decide, but please keep in mind that I really do believe you're the best choice for this."

---------------

Remus did consider it, but had a hard time coming to any conclusions. It was difficult to believe that he really was the best choice for this, given his lycanthropy – not to mention that one of the key members of the Order really didn't like him very well. After worrying it over without reaching a decision, he finally relegated it to the back of his mind for a time. The full moon at the end of August was approaching, and they had yet to get Harry safely back to school. Perhaps he'd have a better idea of the right thing to do after those events had passed.

He was trying to occupy himself with a book in Sturgis' library when Bill Weasley came in carrying a still smoking goblet containing his potion.

"Thank you, Bill," Remus said as he set his book down and accepted it, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Apparently you've been enlisted to serve as a courier tonight?" Remus started drinking, reminding himself with every swallow that this was better than the alternative. _If I didn't know it was just as bad when other people brew it, I'd suspect Severus of making it deliberately foul._

Bill dropped easily into the chair next to his before answering.

"I volunteered actually. I had to go out to the school anyway," he shrugged. Remus was still finishing the potion, so it was a moment or two before he could reply, but when he was about to speak he was cut short by Bill's chuckle.

"If you could have seen your face when you set the goblet down," Bill explained. "I don't know if I could describe it in words."

The fetid aftertaste still lingering in his mouth, Remus glanced over at Bill and gave him a suggestion which was pithy and frankly obscene.

There had only been a fraction of a second in which Remus had decided to uncensor his reaction, to speak more frankly in front of the younger man than he would normally have done in front of – well, anyone but one of others from the group of four friends at school. It was probably a combination of his own resolution after Sirius' death and Bill's refusal to censor his own reaction to watching Remus down the potion – which was oddly comforting as it showed that he regarded Remus' lycanthropy as just another one of his traits rather than politely avoiding the subject in a misguided effort to spare Remus' feelings.

Now Bill was grinning at him, and Remus didn't regret the impulsive choice. "The last time I tried that I ended up having to make some _very_ embarrassing explanations to a Healer, so I think I'll pass," he retorted easily.

"Maybe this isn't a tactful time for me to ask how Fleur is doing," Remus said then, his eyes twinkling a little.

"Things are good. I'm supposed to spend Christmas with her family this year."

"She's invited you already?"

"Not exactly," Bill admitted, amused. "She doesn't want to admit that she's serious enough to want to bring me home for the holidays, but she _also_ wants to make sure I don't make any other plans, so she's being a little oblique about it rather than just coming out with an invitation."

"Are you planning to go?"

"Oh yes. And I've let _her _know – also obliquely – that I'm going to need a little help with presents for her family if she wants me to make a good impression. Which works out pretty well for me because she'll have to have them scouted out beforehand. All I'll have to do is pay for them, but I won't be able to get in any real trouble since I wasn't the one who picked them out – not that she'll tell her parents that." Remus chuckled.

"Well, as long as everyone is happy –"

"So, how are things going with you?"

Remus hesitated. It had never occurred to him to discuss this with anyone, but it _was_ preying on his mind, and Bill had a good head on his shoulders.

"Dumbledore asked me to serve as his successor in leading the Order," he admitted slowly, "but I'm not sure whether or not that's a wise decision."

Bill quirked a brow at him. "Because of Snape or your lycanthropy?"

"Both, actually. Severus is very important to the Order, and he wouldn't be pleased. And I'm not sure it's fair to have someone in a leadership position who is unavailable on a regular basis."

"Thirteen nights a year – all of which are predictable – wouldn't be anything we couldn't easily work around. Dumbledore isn't always available either you know, and that's less predictable."

"But what if something happens while I'm a wolf?" Remus voiced his real concern.

"Well, I suppose it depends on how much confidence you have in the rest of the team," Bill said bluntly. "If you're going to be the kind of leader who doesn't trust anyone to do anything unless you're standing over them supervising, then you're not going to be comfortable in that role because you won't be able to oversee us every minute. If you think that we might be able to manage to muddle through for a few hours without you, then it won't be a problem."

"I didn't mean it like that," Remus protested.

"It's the only real reason for you to be worried about it. Either you trust us to manage occasionally without your presence or you don't." As Remus was absorbing this – Bill might have a point – the younger man continued on to what he evidently regarded as the weightier issue. "Snape is the more difficult question. I know Dumbledore trusts him, but what I can't decide is whether he's loyal to _Order_ or merely loyal to its current leader. On the other hand, if it's the latter, he couldn't be trusted under anyone else so it may not matter who succeeds the Headmaster."

"Having someone he really doesn't like in that position might push him away."

Bill looked at him then and made a suggestion.

"Why don't you talk to him and see what he says?"

"You seem to have a talent for pointing out the obvious," Remus observed.

"Speaking of pointing out the obvious," Bill said, changing the subject, "have you noticed that Harry needs to start shaving?"

Remus nodded, frowning slightly. "I meant to do something about that when we assemble his school things this year."

"I told Mum I'd pick some stuff up for Ron this week, and I can take care of Harry at the same time if you like," Bill offered easily. "I'd prefer that my youngest brother's first experiences with a razor take place with a little more supervision than he'd get at the school, although I suppose he'll end up covered with plasters anyway. It seems to be a rite of passage."

Remus smiled.


	11. Back to School

The trip on the Knight Bus to King's Cross was relatively uneventful, except for Stan Shunpike's delight in seeing 'Neville' again to which Harry had become accustomed. This time it dropped them off in a side street across from the station. As the trunks were unloaded (two of them containing new shaving kits), Harry watched Muggle Londoners in the street walk by and wondered how they could be so utterly oblivious to the presence of a triple-decker purple bus unloading nearly a dozen people, four trunks, two owls, and a cat. Pigwidgeon fluttered about in his cage in a state of evident excitement while Hedwig sat on her perch with great dignity and Crookshanks' squashed face peered out over Hermione's arms. Nevertheless, the only living creature who seemed to be aware of them was a small dark cat which had been busily washing itself and apparently did not find them of sufficient interest to pause for more than a moment in its grooming.

The Knight Bus disappeared with a bang.

"Ron, dear, mind your trunk," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously. Ron and Bill exchanged looks.

"Stay together now," Mr. Weasley reminded them as he led them toward the street they would need to cross to reach the station. Harry noticed that he had ended up squarely in the center of the group, with Remus Lupin next to him and Alastor Moody only a few feet away.

Just as they were about to enter the street, the cat Harry had noticed while they were unloading the trunks darted out in front of Mr. Weasley, causing him to stop abruptly to avoid stepping on it. It made an odd sound almost like a cough or a bark and stamped a paw. Crookshanks sat up in Hermione's arms to look around.

Mr. Weasley said, "Excuse me," to the cat rather absently and started to walk around it.

"Mer – ROW," the cat said, getting in front of him again.

"Bother," Emmeline Vance said with mild irritation, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the cat.

"Don't –" Moody called to her just as she murmured "_Stupefy._" The cat leapt aside behind a dustbin and avoided the jet of green light which hit the pavement in exactly the spot it had occupied an instant earlier.

"_Don't get distracted_," Moody barked more loudly.

The cat was now emerging from next to the dustbin, but it did not venture in front of Mr. Weasley again.

"MER – R – ROW," it insisted loudly, now addressing Crookshanks. The bandy-legged cat sprang out of Hermione's arms.

"Crookshanks, _no!_" Hermione ordered. Moody grabbed her arm to stop her from going after him.

"_Stay together,_" he ordered harshly as the two cats darted away, disappearing into the pedestrian throng. "Stay alert and let's get onto the platform," Moody muttered, keeping a hold on Hermione. Before Mr. Weasley could start forward yet again, there was a loud commotion in the street.

"Hand on your wand, Harry," Lupin told him quietly, drawing out his own.

"It's just a cat fight, come on," Emmeline Vance urged. "Moody's right, we need to get going." Moody was now frowning and seemed firmly planted in place.

"Arthur, you're closer – see anything?" he asked.

"There are too many people," Mr. Weasley said, frowning. "I can't quite – _Rabastan Lestrange_!"

"Tonks and Bill," Lupin ordered quickly, and the two of them started forward into the crowd. "Everyone else, pull back, but stay together."

Harry could hardly see anything as everyone surrounded him, pressing him further back into the little side street, which was very annoying. Then they all just stood there, holding their wands and waiting. Harry checked his watch and wondered if they were going to make the train and how they would get to school if they missed it. A few minutes passed before Bill Weasley returned alone.

"They've caught Rabastan Lestrange and another wizard waiting outside the station," he told them quietly. "Aurors are swarming all over, do you want to try for the platform?" he asked.

Moody and Lupin exchanged a glance, and then Lupin said, "Let's go."

They crossed the street unmolested, avoiding the crowd containing Tonks' unmistakably colorful hair as they walked rapidly into the station.

"We'd better hurry now," Molly Weasley fussed as they made their way to the entrance to platform nine and three-quarters. Although Mr. Weasley, Ginny, and Emmeline Vance had been in the front of the group, they all stepped aside to allow Harry and Lupin to go through the barrier first. Harry looked around the hubbub of the platform – crammed with students, parents, and pets – and felt oddly disconnected from it.

"_Harry_!" Neville Longbottom called from a nearby compartment. Lupin immediately started in his direction.

"I've still got the whole compartment if you want to share," Neville suggested happily, his round face beaming at Harry. "Oh, hello, Professor," he added, noticing Lupin belatedly. "Are you coming back?" Neville asked hopefully.

"Not just at present," Lupin responded neutrally, helping Harry hoist his trunk into the compartment, and Neville's face fell. Lupin seemed to notice this as he straightened up, and smiled kindly at his former student. "I hear that you did rather well on your O.W.L.'s," he added. Neville blushed.

"I got an E-level O.W.L. in Herbology," he told them with an air of amazement, "and an A-level one in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"I knew you could do it, Neville," Lupin told him, smiling as he stepped to the window to allow Ginny to enter the compartment behind Harry. "Your family must be very proud of you."

"It's because of you and Harry, sir," Neville said. Inside the compartment, Harry started slightly. He knew the DA sessions he had led had helped the participants, but it felt a little strange to hear his name coupled with Lupin's, just as if Harry were a real teacher.

Mr. Weasley shut the door behind them, and Harry rolled down the other window and stuck his head out. Down the platform, he could see Moody and Mrs. Weasley outside the compartment where Ron and Hermione, who were prefects, would be traveling. Bill Weasley saw Harry and waved, then his gaze slipped aside and Harry saw his face change. Bill looked slightly startled, then grinned.

Harry followed Bill's gaze and saw Crookshanks and the little dark cat trotting smoothly into view on the platform. They traveled together until they were midway between the two compartments, then the two cats turned to face each other and rubbed their cheeks together. The continued walking away from each other, cheeks still pressed against each other's bodies until they lost contact. Then their tails twined once before they separated, and Crookshanks continued on to Hermione's compartment as the little dark cat walked toward the compartment Harry occupied.

Ginny poked her head out the window too, and Bill walked over to join them. The little cat had stopped directly across from Harry's compartment not too far from Remus Lupin and begun grooming itself with an air of unconcern.

"I think we owe Crookshanks some very special catnip," Bill told them very quietly when he reached them. "He and his friend over there are the ones who exposed Rastoban and the other wizard on the platform." His father nodded.

"The cat I almost stepped on was scratching him when I saw him," Mr. Weasley confirmed quietly. "The Muggles told the Ministry?" Bill nodded.

"Tonks will be able to keep Hermione out of it – just a lucky coincidence that Rastoban and his companion happened to get in the way of a couple strays who were fighting."

The train whistle blew, and Lupin, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Emmeline Vance stepped away from the compartment. Harry thought Crookshanks' friend out to share in the suggested treat and glanced over at the little dark cat as he opened his mouth to point this out, but it was no longer in sight and the train pulled away.

----------

The school year started off decently, if not spectacularly, but then Harry doubted that anything short of Sirius miraculously reappearing would have excited him much. There was another new DADA teacher – Harry was beginning to think that having a new teacher in that position every year was as much a Hogwarts tradition as Professor Binns teaching History of Magic – who seemed to be at least better than Umbridge, although that wasn't saying much. Seamus' younger sister Fiona was sorted into Hufflepuff, but Seamus was kind enough to set aside his disappointment that they weren't in the same house to congratulate her and say several nice things about Hufflepuffs that made Hannah Abbott – one of the Hufflepuff prefects waiting to escort the first-years to their dormitory – smile at him with a hint of appraisal.

Professor Dumbledore did release Harry from his lifetime Quidditch ban, which pleased Harry, although not nearly as much as it seemed to excite the other members of the Gryffindor team. Harry felt rather badly about this, and tried to say something comforting to Ginny Weasley, who merely laughed.

"Harry, I'm not as good a Seeker as you are, but that doesn't bother me and you really don't need to worry about my feelings being hurt," she assured him. Then she added rather mischievously, "I'd wager I'm a better Chaser than you are though, so I'm giving you fair warning not to try to compete with me in _that _position," which made him feel better.

It would have been a fairly normal start to the school year if the rest of the world had not intruded.

The Ministry of Magic home defense kits, which had been shipped out over the summer, turned out to have been sent out with faulty Shield Charms in them. This proved to have been an enormous blunder. Although the Ministry insisted that this was nothing more than a simple mistake make by the supplier and promised to dispatch replacements forthwith, the ensuing uproar and persistent demands for a full enquiry into the matter (to detect the sabotage so many were sure _must_ have been the cause) diverted attention from the Ministry's efforts to issue any other instructions to the wizarding community for coping with Voldemort's return. There were also huge numbers of witches and wizards who simply discarded the kits entirely and decided it was safer to rely on their own efforts. Since these were highly variable, the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad was quickly so overwhelmed that other members of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had to be diverted from their regular duties to assist in damage control.

This put rather a strain on that department when other things started to happen. Over the summer, there had been an incident in a Muggle shopping area (the Muggle community thought it was a chemical fire started in a garden supply store), then another one in Covent Garden. _The Daily Prophet_ subscriber rolls climbed as everyone searched the pages each day for the latest news. A wizard who was quoted in the paper denouncing the return of Lord Voldemort was found dead two days after the story appeared – the Ministry refused to say where or in what condition, a decision which only added to the growing climate of fear. An association of merchants in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade petitioned the Ministry for greater security to ensure the safety of shoppers when their sales dropped precipitously as people began to hunker down. A chance to browse the latest in wizarding wear was simply not worth your life.

As the new year began at Hogwarts, the faculty persisted in conducting lessons normally and students did their best to ignore what was happening in the world around them enough to focus on their lessons. Nevertheless, a new rule was implemented which required students to have a pass to be present in certain areas in the evenings (the common rooms and library were acceptable) and Harry noticed that the staff, rather than retiring in their rooms after supper, were wont to patrol the hallways. There wasn't anywhere Harry particularly wanted to go – and he still had the Marauders' Map and the Cloak – but it was annoying nonetheless. He tried not to complain much (other than to Ron and Hermione) while he waited for something else to happen.

His pessimistic conviction that something else _would_ happen proved to be correct. One student received news of a tragedy at home, then another, and another. In a school the size of Hogwarts – which also happened to be the only source of magical education in Britain – it shouldn't have been surprising that many of the wizards and witches who began to disappear had a relative at the school. The atmosphere grew grimmer, but nearly everyone (excepting some of the Slytherins) tried to follow the example set by Dumbledore and the rest of the staff, who persisted in maintaining the traditions of the school, including events such as Quidditch games. The first match of the year was moved up to the weekend before Halloween, which didn't give the teams as much time to practice, but gave everyone else in the school something to look forward to. This might have seemed frivolous in some ways, but it did manage to provide a useful distraction and keep everyone's spirits up.

Although the sport didn't seem to have that effect on Severus Snape.

---------

Severus watched the first match of the season – Slytherin against Hufflepuff – without much enjoyment. While Slytherin was doing fairly well – they were already ahead 200-40 – this match was only against Hufflepuff, so they should have been doing better and Draco still hadn't caught the Snitch. This would have been his explanation if anyone had dared to ask him why he was watching this wearing his usual scowl (no one did), however his sour mood was partly attributable to other causes he would not have shared.

The Headmaster had actually named that _wolf_ as his second in command of the Order of the Phoenix. Severus couldn't decide whether this was even more outrageous than having a werewolf teaching DADA had been or less so – it would have been an interesting question for a debate if the idea of either hadn't been so damnably annoying! Admittedly Severus himself had been named in the succession plan for leadership of the Order just after Lupin, but he would almost rather not have been included at all than to come in second to _him_. He couldn't understand what quality the werewolf had that would have caused so many people – including Dumbledore himself – to prefer the wolf.

Even Black had regarded the wolf as a friend, when he seemed to despise Severus, who actually had some things in common with him –

Severus cut that line of thinking off abruptly as he felt the familiar welling of pain.

What was worse was that Lupin had actually spoken to him about the appointment it beforehand. His carefully worded attempts to converse with Severus seemed to be aimed at determining whether Severus was "comfortable" with such a decision. He had retorted that the important thing was getting the best possible person for the position and that "comfort" had nothing to do with who would be best in that role. He had managed to get the wolf to drop the subject and go away, but it did nothing to answer the fundamental question of why Dumbledore had chosen the wolf over him.

Maybe the Headmaster would have been impressed if he'd managed to get more information out of Alex. He had hoped that he would hear from her after he completed the sale – and at a very advantageous price – and he supposed it was still possible that he would. He had only deposited the proceeds a week ago. He had thought that at least he might get some information from Gringotts – surely they had to have an address for the holder of vault 211 on file – but the goblins at the bank had flatly refused to provide any information at all about the vault holder ("And don't think you can go nosing around for it either, for you won't get it!") even when Severus had pled a potential mistake in the number and the need to ensure the funds were correctly deposited.

"_And Zacharias Smith scores for Hufflepuff!_"

Severus returned his attention to frowning at the game.

-------------

A/N – Constructive criticism is always appreciated.


	12. After Halloween

October 31, 1996

Most of the school looked up anxiously as the owl swooped into the hall during the feast Halloween evening. Normally, owls arrived in the morning at breakfast; owls in the evening in the Great Hall were not a good sign. The last one had been to Elenor Branstone, a Hufflepuff third year from her aunt, informing her that her mother had been killed by Death Eaters and her father was in St. Mungo's. Professor Sprout had abandoned her meal when Elenor started crying at the Hufflepuff table to escort her from the Great Hall.

All eyes were on the speckled brown barn owl as it sped into the Great Hall, and swooped down over the Gryffindor table. Neville paled as the owl approached and Lavender Brown, further down the table, dropped the copy of _Witch Weekly_ she was handing across to Parvati Patil into the mashed potatoes.

The owl dropped its message squarely in front of Ron.

Ron's freckles became more prominent, and he stared at the letter as if it were an enormous spider that had landed in front of him.

Silence fell at their end of the Gryffindor table. Ron looked over at Harry, who was seated across the table from him, with frightened eyes.

"Opening it won't change anything," Harry told him, knowing it was a lie. "Whatever may have happened has already happened." _Even if it isn't real until you know about it._

"Do you want me to open it?" Ginny asked from next to Harry as her brother made no move the read the letter.

Ron shook his head, but he didn't actually open it himself until prompted by a quiet "Malfoy's watching," from Hermione at his side. Then he picked it up and tore it open in a single violent movement. His eyes raced across the parchment.

"Everything's okay!" he reported, loudly relieved. Ginny sagged a little – Harry hadn't realized how rigidly she'd been holding herself beside him until she did – and then straightened defiantly. Dean Thomas, on Ginny's other side, gave her hand a brief squeeze. The color began to come back into Neville's face, and Seamus Finnegan gave Ron an encouraging grin from further down the table past Dean before he helped himself to another roll. Hermione glared across the hall at Malfoy, who lowered his eyes and whispered something to Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's from Fred," Ron reported, re-reading it more slowly after his initial frantic scan. "Mum was attacked in Diagon Alley today, but she's fine, didn't even have to go to St. Mungo's. And one of the Death Eaters is in custody, Jugson. Kingsley got him!"

"Was anyone else hurt?" Ginny asked.

Ron shook his head. "Nothing major. One wizard had to go to St. Mungo's – Fred doesn't give his name – but nothing very serious. Supposed to be out already. Maybe they'll be something in _The Daily Prophet_ tomorrow."

"Why didn't Mum or Dad send an owl?"

Ron, having finished reading it again himself, handed the letter over to his sister. "Probably didn't want to _worry the children_," he told her in tones of heavy sarcasm. "From the way they treat us, you'd think we were still flying toy brooms and learning how to eat with real utensils!" He stabbed angrily at the food on his plate without bothering to look and see what it was that he had speared with his fork. "I've half a mind to send _them_ a howler! How do they think we'd feel finding out about this in the news tomorrow with everyone else?"

"Why don't you wait a little and see if they do send you something?" Hermione suggested diplomatically. "Maybe their owl is on the way. Errol isn't always, er," she floundered, and Ron looked over at her with an affectionate light in his eyes, his anger apparently fading.

"Awake long enough to make it all the way here?" he suggested drolly. The others laughed. "All right, I guess we can wait until after the morning deliveries."

------

Alex stepped into the cottage and shut the door behind her. Her hostess looked up from her accustomed spot near the fireplace.

"You're back," she observed, returning her attention to her reading.

"Yes." There was an unusual note in Alex's voice. The old woman looked up again sharply.

"Problem?"

"No." There was a long pause. "It's – fine. It didn't happen."

"Glad to hear it – whatever it was."

Alex remained just inside the door, not moving. "It wasn't – I didn't do anything. I didn't have to. He – Albus – he stopped it – I –"

The older woman set her book down. "Alex?"

Alex burst into tears, harsh choking sobs that shook her still-thin frame. Her hostess rose and led her over to a sofa, clucking sympathetically. Once she started, it took Alex a while to cry herself out. She eventually accepted a handkerchief to mop her newly-swollen eyes and blow her nose before apologizing to her hostess.

"I'm very sorry," she said with the quiet of exhaustion rather than composure. "I didn't mean to break down like that."

"Better to have a good cry and get it over with," her hostess told her. "Although you will have quite a headache tomorrow if you don't take a potion before you go to sleep," she added prosaically. "I'll leave one in your room for you."

"Thanks," Alex said quietly, meaning rather more. Her hostess nodded in understanding and headed up the stairs, leaving Alex alone by the fire.

-------------

The following morning did produce a short note from Mrs. Weasley. Other than the suspicious timing and one very minor reference, ("There was a spot of trouble in Diagon Alley while I was shopping yesterday. It didn't affect me, but I didn't want you to worry if you saw something in _The Daily Prophet_ about it, so I thought I'd just mention it so you wouldn't be distracted from your studies if you happened to hear anything.") it wasn't even a letter about the attack at all. Instead of providing any details about the incident, she filled the parchment with motherly admonitions about studying hard and reminding Ginny to check the charms on her cloak before it got too cold.

"I don't _believe_ it," Ron insisted repeatedly on reading over the note from his mum. "She _can't_ actually think we don't know what's going on outside the school!"

"I think it's partly because we're the youngest," Ginny said knowingly. "Our growing up is different from Bill or Charlie doing it." Ron looked skeptical.

"She's still after Bill about his hair, and he graduated _years_ ago," Ron complained.

"It's only because she loves you," Harry pointed out quietly. Ron looked over at Harry a little hesitantly, reminded that there are worse things than having a protective mum.

"I suppose," he said awkwardly, and they changed the subject.

-------------

Remus recognized Madame Marchbanks when she walked into the apothecary shop. He politely stepped aside for the venerable teacher-turned-examiner as she made her way to the counter.

"Go ahead, boy, I'm not in that much of a hurry," she told him briskly, although he thought she was inwardly pleased with the small courtesy.

"Neither am I," he replied politely, wondering with inward amusement how many decades he had to accumulate before she would concede he was no longer a boy. "Please go ahead." The proprietor hurried forward.

"I'll need powdered root of asphodel, a scoop of dried nettles, half a dozen shrivelfigs, two moonstones, and a half-pound of imported black hellebore," she announced beadily, "the Greek, mind you, not the German."

"At once, madam," the proprietor replied, his hands already moving automatically to assemble her order. "Although I might just mention that we do carry a very fine line of headache preparations in stock. Quite convenient and very reliable."

"Not too old to manage a cauldron myself, y'know," she snapped back.

"Of course not, madam. I'm sure I never meant to imply –" he broke under the strain of her fixed look. "I'll just run back to the storeroom for a moment. I think there's a new shipment of the Abyssinian shrivelfigs, and I'm sure you want the freshest," he said hastily before he turned and fled. Remus watched the interplay with interest.

"I remember your examinations," Madame Marchbanks said unexpectedly. With the proprietor in the back, they were effectively alone in the shop. "Charms and Transfiguration. Your teapot had a wolf on it with the tail running up the handle. Nice work. Had flare."

"Thank you," Remus said, genuinely pleased. "I didn't think you'd remember."

"Been thinking on it lately," she admitted. "What you learn about people in examinations. Seen a lot of 'em over the years. You were one of the ones that surprised me. Better charm work than I expected. Looked studious," she explained, evidently not expecting him to respond. "The studious ones are usually better on the transfiguration side. Really _inspired_ charm work isn't always strictly by the rules. Needs a touch of whimsy – humor – imagination – whatever you call it, but it's never really _great_ without that. Didn't think you'd have it, but you surprised me."

"_There_ you are, madam," the proprietor gushed as he hurried out of the storeroom to present her with a carefully wrapped package. Madame Marchbanks looked slightly irritated by the interruption.

"Where did you think I'd be?" she retorted tartly. "Did you think I'm so senile I'd leave without taking what I came for?"

The proprietor was nonplussed. "I only meant –" he halted and rearranged his face in a somewhat sickly smile. "Thank you for your custom," he ventured, bowing.

Madame Marchbanks shot him a withering look before tottering off, the force of her presence making her tiny figure seem rather larger than it actually was. When the door jangled shut behind her, the proprietor released his pent-up breath and sagged a bit against the counter. He sensed Remus' eyes upon him and straightened self-consciously.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he said stiffly. "How may I assist you?" There were dark spots of color on his painfully angular cheekbones.

"That's quite all right," Remus soothed. "All I need is some dried ginger. No hurry about it." He smiled encouragement to the obviously shaken man, and saw him relax a bit. The undoubtedly familiar routine of measuring out the ginger and packaging it up seemed to comfort him, and he was almost natural as he counted out Remus' change from the small purchase.

"I really am sorry," the proprietor repeated. "I just feel like I'm _failing_ something every time she looks at me," he confided, reassured by the sympathetic understanding in Lupin's amber eyes. "I'm a grown man with two of my own at Hogwarts," he protested, "but she looks at me and I'm a gawky teenager who can't change a hedgehog into a pincushion!"

"I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it," Remus offered, giving the proprietor another sympathetic smile before stepping back from the counter to make way for a harassed looking young witch with two toddlers in tow. He heard her asking about the proper concentration of essence of belladonna to be used in a Sleeping Draught as he left the shop.

---------

Ron tried three times to get Hermione's attention across the breakfast table before he got irritated.

"What _are_ you thinking about?" he demanded finally.

"Fluxweed," Hermione answered absently, reaching for another piece of toast. "There used to be some growing just up the bank from the lake, but when I went by yesterday afternoon I couldn't find any left."

"Professor Sprout wanted that spot cleared for some sneezewort," Neville chimed in. "We're going to transplant them in the spring to see how they perform in those soil conditions."

"What happened to the fluxweed?" Hermione asked.

Neville shrugged. "Professor Snape wanted some of it, and she moved the rest to greenhouse two. Really ought to be in greenhouse three, but there's no room until the puffapods are finished blooming."

"You're really getting good at Herbology," Harry observed.

Neville blushed.

Hermione apparently remembered – belatedly – that Ron had been trying to attract her attention. "Sorry, Ron, what were you saying?" Not only Harry and Hermione turned to look at Ron, but Neville and Ginny as well.

"Er, doesn't matter. Nothing important," Ron mumbled. "Shouldn't we get to class?"

---------

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room later that night with Ron, Harry saw Hermione come in and dump a large pile of books on the table in the corner she preferred to use when she was studying. In Hermione's second year as a prefect, her fellow Gryffindors were familiar enough were her habits to avoid using that table themselves. Hermione tended to get testy when her study habits were disturbed, and there were only three weeks left until mid-terms began. Accordingly, Harry fully expected that Hermione would disappear behind her book pile for the remainder of the evening, however she surprised him by walking over to where he and Ron were sitting near the fire and interrupting Harry's work on an essay Professor McGonagall had assigned them in Advanced Transfiguration.

"Harry, do you mind if I borrow the Cloak and map tonight?" she asked in an undertone.

"In my trunk," Harry agreed absently, trying to remember the third point he was supposed to explain in his essay on the fundamental differences between vanishing and conjuring spells when dealing with invertebrates. "Want me to get them for you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, thanks. I'll only be a minute."

Ron looked like he was about to say something, but didn't speak quickly enough and was left watching Hermione's back disappear up the stairs with such an odd expression on his face that Harry set his essay aside for a moment.

"Ron?" he questioned.

Ron stopped looking at the blank space of the landing of the stairway leading to the boys' dormitory where Hermione had last been visible and looked at Harry instead. His expression was an odd mixture of frustration, confusion, and something else Harry couldn't quite identify.

"Why does she want your Cloak and stuff?" Ron asked Harry.

"Probably just wants to get to the kitchen or the library later without losing any points." The increased security patrols were really getting to be annoying. There wasn't anywhere Harry wanted to go particularly, but he knew that the teachers and even the other prefects – Hermione and Ron weren't so bad about it – paid special attention to him when they saw him in the halls and he really hated the feeling of being _watched_ all the time.

"You don't think she might be –" Ron's expression was troubled, "well, er, _meeting_ anyone?"

"Who would she be meeting?"

"You know," Ron said meaningfully, his ears starting to color very faintly, "a guy."

"Well, I suppose it's possible," Harry said, now curious and trying to think of who Hermione might be seeing. Neville had asked her to the Yuletide Ball two years before, but he was now dating Hannah Abbot, a rather pretty blond Hufflepuff prefect. "Isn't she still writing to Viktor?"

For some reason, Ron did not appear to find this comforting, but Hermione reappeared before Ron could respond.

Despite Hermione's presence – some of the younger students found Madam Pince in the library and the prospect of hall patrols combined less intimidating than Hermione and had begun to do their studying in the library when they caught a glimpse of her bushy brown hair in the common room – there were still a fair number of other students in the Gryffindor common room for the rest of the evening. It was fairly late by the time only Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained. Harry, just putting the finishing touches on his Advanced Transfiguration essay, was thinking longingly of his bed. Hermione stacked her books neatly on the table and began to pull the Cloak out from under her robes. Ron immediately closed his Charms textbook and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, speaking in an offhand manner, but rather hurriedly.

"I have some things I need to take care of, and the patrols are really a pain," Hermione replied vaguely.

Ron stepped forward. "Why don't I go with you?" he suggested. "We could –"

"Thanks, but I think it will be safer for me to take care of this on my own," Hermione told him briskly, but without meeting Ron's eyes, which remained fixed on her. "See you later," she said quickly, and disappeared under the Cloak.

A moment later, they heard the portrait door swing open, and then close behind her. Ron was still standing in the same spot, staring into empty space disconsolately.

"Did you want to borrow it tonight?" Harry, a little puzzled by Ron's behavior, asked as he rolled up his assignment and started packing his knapsack. "I'm sorry, I didn't think to ask if you wanted it first." He would have lent it to Ron just as readily.

"No, I just –" Ron fell silent, then shrugged and returned to cram the material he had been using haphazardly into his knapsack. "It might have been a nice night for a walk around the lake," he said in a voice that tried to be careless, "with the full moon and everything."

Harry, who had finished packing his knapsack and was rising to sling it over his shoulder, had a sudden revelation and sat down again rather abruptly.

"Ron, do you like Hermione?" he asked bluntly, too surprised to do anything other than blurt out the question.

Ron froze in place, one hand still partially inside his knapsack into which he had been trying to squash his Care of Magical Creatures text. After a moment, he replied weakly, "What kind of a question is that?" without meeting Harry's eyes. The tips of Ron's ears were getting redder by the second.

"Ron, it doesn't matter to me one way or the other," Harry said carefully. "I just wondered, that's all."

Ron met Harry's eyes then, looking oddly vulnerable. "You don't think it's sort of, well, stupid?"

"Of course not," Harry assured him immediately. "Why would it be?"

Ron abandoned all pretense of packing up and seated himself on the low table across from the sofa Harry had fallen into a moment earlier.

"Well, Hermione's awfully smart and really, well, _Hermione_, and I'm just – _me_," Ron explained disjointedly. "I'm not rich, or famous, or a great athlete, or very good at _anything_ really. And it's not just that she's got brains, but there's a lot more to her than that. When you get to know her, I mean. She's just really – neat." Watching Ron fumbling for words, Harry thought that the expression on his face was one Ron reserved for really great Quidditch players, but evidently something else – or someone – had finally achieved parity with Quidditch in Ron's eyes. "And Ginny says she _is_ still writing to Viktor – sent another letter off to him last week – and she didn't want me to go with her tonight, and, well, why would someone like her even be interested in a regular guy like me?" Ron's eyes dropped again, and he began scuffing his battered trainers on the floor despondently.

"I don't think Hermione would date anyone because he was famous or anything," Harry told him, trying to adjust to the idea and wondering how to encourage Ron and be supportive without simultaneously implying too much about Hermione's relationship with Viktor Krum. But Harry really didn't think her friendship with the famous Bulgarian Quidditch player had anything to do with his popularity. Although Ron might have found some comfort in assurances that it did – and that it would therefore end as quickly as Hermione's childish affection for Gilderoy Lockhart had once she really got to know Viktor – Viktor had actually seemed to be an okay chap. "And you're already friends with her, so at least you know she likes you," Harry pointed out optimistically.

"But not that way."

"Ron, you don't know that. The only way to find out is to, well, talk to her or ask her out or something." Ron received this suggestion as if Harry had proposed something involving spiders.

"How am I supposed to do _that_?" he demanded. "And what if she says no? Then she'll know I like her, but she won't want to hang around me if she doesn't like me back!"

"I really don't think Hermione's going to stop talking to you just like that. She still talks to Neville, and she turned him down," Harry pointed out reasonably, but Ron was shaking his head.

"It's just a stupid idea. Forget it," he said shortly. "I'm going up to bed."

Harry tried several times to persuade Ron to at least _say_ something to Hermione, but Ron, who seemed to be illogically (in Harry's view) convinced that such a conversation would mark the end of their friendship, stubbornly refused to say a word. Harry even offered to ask someone else to go with him to Hogsmead on the last Hogsmead weekend before the Christmas holidays so that Ron could be alone with Hermione, but Harry seemed to have chosen a bad time to make the suggestion.

Unlike Harry, Ron had noticed that the letter Hermione had left to answer was from Viktor Krum. Ron obstinately refused to agree to the plan, balking to the point of insisting that he wouldn't go at all if Harry didn't come.

------------------

A/N – Okay, the surprising double update turned into a triple update when I realized I could post another chapter without having to fill in any gaps (I write key scenes somewhat randomly when inspired – the final battle scene is finished, for example – and have to fill in other pieces to make it all fit together) but I do have some gaps that need to be filled in for the next chapter, so don't expect it nearly as quickly. As always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.


	13. A Quest and a Cat

Alex studied the map in front of her. Unlike Muggle maps, it was a truly three dimensional representation of the area. It opened as an overview, but obligingly changed into a detailed map of a smaller area when requested.

Unfortunately, it had the same limitation as any other map, magical or Muggle – it only contained information known to the map makers. Even maps that updated themselves magically, as this one her hostess was lending her did, still could not display features or locations that had been magically concealed. Alex was forced to do this the old-fashioned way, trying to mentally compare terrain features with the small fragments of transferred memory contained in her mind, but it was a slow process. It couldn't have been started earlier since the outpost wasn't in existence, but she needed to know where it was before Christmas break began, which left her a window of time smaller than she would have liked.

Alex sighed, and folded the map up again. _I guess I'm just going to have to go look for myself._

------------

Remus arrived promptly at the Headmaster's office and found Severus already there.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them calmly.

"Remus, thank you for coming," Dumbledore replied, rising before Remus could be seated. "Now that you're here, we can be on our way," he said, leading them to the fireplace.

They stepped out in a small room that contained none of the eclectic clutter that Remus had come to associate with the Headmaster. There was a small square table with four chairs, and a single table, bearing a Pensieve, against the wall. The walls themselves were innocent of pictures.

"Sirius was betrayed by someone he thought bound to his service," Dumbledore explained as he took a seat, "and while I've taken steps to protect certain information, a few extra precautions are probably prudent. Now, I'd like to discuss the upcoming attack on Miss Granger and her parents."

"We've worked out a schedule to keep a guard on their home over the holidays," Remus reported. "We're planning to start it on Thursday evening – before Hermione returns on Saturday – just to be safe. Arthur will take the lead in speaking with the Grangers as he's already acquainted with them. We'll put the protections we spoke about earlier on the house right after the visit."

"Was there any difficulty with the duty roster?" the Headmaster asked. "It will be less than a week before Christmas."

Remus shook his head. "Everyone's pitching in, which means the shifts won't be unmanageably long. We should be fine, even if the attack comes later than we expect and we have to continue for longer than we had planned. We worked out the schedule through the end of holidays, and we should have enough time to add to it if we find we need to continue on into next year."

"Well done," Dumbledore approved. "Severus, have you had any success in narrowing down the location of the Death Eater outpost where she was taken?" The Potions master, looking disgruntled, waved his wand and generated a translucent image in the air above the table.

"This is my best estimate of the likely location," he said grimly.

"That's still a fairly large area," the Headmaster observed, frowning.

"As the outpost was only recently constructed under very tight security – and given the fact that only those charged by the Dark Lord with establishing it are supposed to even know it exists – I was unable to identify the _exact_ location," Snape replied stiffly. Dumbledore waved a hand pacifically.

"That was just an observation, Severus. I doubt anyone else could have narrowed it down to a single country in the British Isles, much less to a location within these limits." Severus merely glowered. "I only made the comment as I'm wondering whether we need to send more than one person out to look for it on the ground."

Remus studied the image thoughtfully. It was a fair amount of area to search, and he would hate to say he didn't need any help and then not be able to find the outpost in time. If the Order's plans to _prevent_ the attack failed – if Hermione _was_ kidnapped and taken to the outpost to be tortured to death after seeing her parents murdered in front of her just as her alternative had – then they _had _to know the location of the outpost in order to mount any kind of a rescue mission.

"If there are any other details to which you are privy that might assist us in narrowing the search –" Severus was suggesting, but the Headmaster was shaking his head.

"I learned that lesson, I assure you. I've given you every scrap of memory I had from Alex about the outpost."

"How confident are you that Alex has given you everything she received from your alternate?" The underlying hint of a sneer in Snape's voice grated on Remus' nerves, and despite his exhaustion from the previous night's moon, Remus could feel his muscles tensing in response.

"Oh, I'm quite sure she didn't," the Headmaster replied evenly, regarding the Potions master over the top of his half-moon glasses. "You may recall that she was very close to dying at the time, and she prudently focused her efforts on giving me the memories related to the eight critical incidents that preceded Voldemort's victory – and Harry's death. After that, there was other material – like the ring information – that would be useful, but not essential. As she did not include anything about the headquarters of the Order being at Grimmauld Place, she must not have shared everything she received."

"I think we need to focus on what we can do with the information we have," Remus interjected, firmly steering the discussion back to the topic at hand before Snape said – or implied – anything else about Alex, or moved on to criticizing Sirius instead. It was over five months now – almost half a year – and he ought to be adjusting to those losses by now, but he still missed both of them dreadfully, albeit at different times and in different ways.

"Do we have anyone else available to assist in the ground search for the outpost?" Remus continued, forcing himself to stay focused.

"No one who is really free at the moment," the Headmaster admitted, adding, "but I'll pull someone if I have to." Remus ran through the scheduling information he had gleaned from arranging the guard roster.

"Charlie's holiday starts a week earlier. His last day of work this year was going to be the thirteenth, but he might be able to get off before that," Remus said. "Why don't I start the ground search myself, and we can see how it progresses? If we keep the search methodical and I report in from time to time, we can evaluate whether we'll need to bring in extra resources. We do still have three and a half weeks left."

Dumbledore nodded. "We'll do that then. We'll work out a report schedule before you leave. If Severus is able to narrow it down further, I'll be able to pass that along securely when we speak."

The Potions master gave a short nod, rose, and strode grimly back to the fireplace while Remus and Dumbledore were still getting to their feet.

"Do you have everything you need?" Dumbledore asked, and Remus nodded in response, wondering as he saw the concern in the Headmaster's eyes if he looked anything like he felt. The Wolfsbane Potion helped enormously, of course, by letting him keep his mind – but it didn't make the transformation itself any easier, and it didn't stop him from missing Padfoot.

"I can start first thing in the morning."

----------------

Having just reported in, Remus had decidedly mixed feelings about his progress in searching for the outpost. On the positive side, he was covering the ground rapidly. If things continued this well, he would have finished fully searching the identified area before the school holidays started with a few days to spare.

On the negative side, he had not yet found the outpost – which was the only objective of the exercise.

Remus was just contemplating the prospect of dinner – food out of tins again was not exactly appealing – when he noticed that there were two small light green eyes in the bushes at the edge of the clearing. Knowing his wand was easily within reach, Remus remained calm.

"Hello, there," he said quietly. He kept his tone very non-threatening, acknowledging the creature's presence in a low-key way. The eyes blinked briefly and looked away for a moment.

"I'm just settling in for the night," he said conversationally. "I'm going to light a small fire for warmth, and to heat up some food." He finished adding the last piece of wood on top of the kindling before starting the fire with a soft, "_Incendio_" It also gave him an excuse to have his wand in his hand at a point when he had the benefit of a little more light and a chance to see what the creature was.

It looked something like a small cat.

After a brief glance, Remus politely turned his attention back to the fire, which was popping cheerfully. With the fire going, the obvious next step would be to prepare dinner. He opened one of the tins he was carrying with him with a grimace.

The cat was still watching him from the shelter of the bushes.

"You're welcome to some of this if you like, although I don't suppose you'll like it any better than I do," he mused aloud. The cat regarded him gravely for a moment, then suddenly darted away and disappeared.

_Well, so much for that._

The cat hadn't seemed to be dangerous, and he had appreciated the illusion of company. Admittedly, it was probably a little silly to talk to a cat, but it had been obscurely comforting. Remus tried to remind himself that he was used to being alone before firmly setting that thought aside and focusing on making his rather depressing supper as appetizing as possible. His meal was ready and he'd downed the first few bites of it when the cat returned.

He caught sight of her eyes again at another point on the outskirts of the clearing, a little to his surprise.

"Well, you came back," he said aloud, quite pleased. As the cat moved closer very cautiously, he saw that she was carrying a fish in her mouth. She paused at the edge of the firelight rather warily.

"You're a friend of Crookshanks, aren't you?" It was the same cat that had scratched Rabastan Lestrange at King's Cross station. "What on earth are you doing all the way up here? We're quite a distance from London." He had always thought strays stayed closer to population centers. She started backing away, and he regretted the obvious surprise in his voice; it must have startled her. "It's all right, I didn't mean to startle you," he soothed. "I was just surprised, that's all."

The cat stopped retreating and studied him for a moment. Then it moved its head, still holding the fish, sharply towards Remus. Then it jerked its head again toward the campfire.

_What are you trying to tell me?_

"Would you like me to cook your fish for you?" he guessed. Setting his mug down, he retrieved the frying pan very carefully and extended it slowly toward the cat, keeping it low to the ground. The cat seemed uncertain for a moment, but then she trotted forward and deposited her fish neatly in the pan.

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes'," Remus muttered quietly. Fish didn't take long to panfry, and he thought that part of the operation went smoothly, but when he carefully slid the cooked fish onto a plate (he didn't want the cat to get burned on the edge of the frying pan trying to get to it) and set it down, the cat made no move to eat it. Remus pushed it a little closer, and then blinked. He thought the cat had actually rolled her eyes, but he couldn't remember seeing a cat do that before. It must have been a trick of the flickering light.

"It isn't the way you like it?" he ventured. "You want me to cook it some more?" He tried reaching for the frying pan again, and the cat stamped her paw emphatically. He set it back down and sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm sure if I were a cat, I would have gotten the message by now, but I'm a little handicapped here."

Animals communicated a lot more than most people were aware, but much of their "language" was a matter of body posture and positioning, while humans relied heavily on verbal communication. Humans _did_ communicate through body position (although they were rarely aware of it) and some animals _could_ produce a fairly expressive range of noises, but the gap in understanding remained. Remus, for obvious reasons, tended to be more adept than most people at deciphering some of the messages, but even he was sitting here talking to the cat.

On the other hand, Sirius had taken quite a while to manage to communicate with Crookshanks and he had been living as a dog at the time, so maybe Remus wasn't doing that badly.

Or maybe everything was fine, but the cat wouldn't eat until she thought it was safe. Staring could be considered rather aggressive. He picked up his own plate again, intended to finish his supper without looking at her so she could have her own meal in peace.

The cat darted forward almost to his feet, sat down and stared up at him fixedly. Remus set his fork down, leaving his plate untouched on his lap. They sat that way for a time, and then the cat, still looking at him, trotted over to the cooked fish and then trotted back to Remus to stare at him and his plate. When this didn't produce any visible result, she did it again.

"You want some of _this_?" he asked dubiously. The cat flicked her tail, but he couldn't tell if it was in agreement or annoyance or meant nothing at all. He tried setting his plate down in front of her – he wasn't exactly full, but he wasn't going to miss it much either – but she looked down at the plate and then back up at him as though he were being remarkably stupid. Then she stared down at the plate for the time it took her to swish her tail twice before darting back to the plate with her fish on it. It looked for a moment as though she were going to pick it up again, but then she lowered her head further and started bumping the plate toward him.

Then Remus concluded that he really _was_ being remarkably stupid.

"You're sharing your fish with me?"

The cat gave the plate a final nudge in his direction, and then settled back politely with her tail curled neatly around herself.

"Well, as you can hardly be expected to cook it yourself, and if you're not going to eat it all, I suppose that's a reasonable trade," he laughed, picking the plate up again to cut the fish up. The idea of a cat maneuvering to get its fish cooked was a little bit strange, but Sirius had said that Crookshanks was the smartest cat he had ever encountered so perhaps this cat was unusually intelligent too. Remus didn't have much experience with cats, but this particular cat had quite clearly received Crookshanks' stamp of approval.

Crookshanks had trusted Sirius and not trusted Peter, which spoke well of his judgment even if he was a cat.

Remus cut the fish into pieces, helped himself to a couple, and set the plate down again. The little dark cat studied it for a moment, selected a piece, and picked it up. Then she turned sharply and trotted briskly away, disappearing into the darkness once she passed the edge of the light from the small campfire. Remus ate his own portion of the fish, and waited for the cat to come back. When it became obvious she was not going to return, he helped himself to a little more before cleaning the dishes up. He went to sleep that night comfortably full from the best meal he'd enjoyed since he had left Hogwarts.

He kept an eye out for the cat the next morning and intermittently throughout the day as he methodically continued the search, but he didn't see her again until he was once again preparing dinner. After missing her all day, he was almost surprised to see two small green eyes at the edge of his new camp site.

"Hello, again," he greeted her. "You're welcome to –" he continued, but she darted off again immediately. This time, he was less surprised when she returned with a fish, trotting up to deposit it in the pan he held out before retreating to the edge of the circle created by his campfire until he had finished cooking it. He cut this fish into pieces a little larger than the one she had chosen last time and let her choose her piece before he served any to himself. He thought he heard a faint rumble of approval before she darted off with her selection, but he couldn't be sure.

Over the next few days, this became a pattern. The cat, which Remus starting thinking of as "Cat" in the absence of another name, generally appeared when he was cooking his evening meal with a fish to share. He appreciated the contribution to his rather boring diet of food from tins, but he also appreciated the company – although he didn't have much success in getting Cat to linger after the meal. Once he caught sight of her eyes at the edge of the camp site after he had finished eating, but he was unable to coax her back to the fire, and the one time he tentatively extended a hand to pat her she darted away before he even touched her.

------------

The day Remus succeeded in fulfilling his mission started out rather badly.

Remus hadn't slept well, troubled by confusing dreams that left him tired and irritable. In his dreams, the search for the Death Eater outpost where Hermione would be killed somehow morphed into a search for Alex. Then Sirius was with him – which even his dream self knew was impossible since Sirius was dead – but when he pointed this out, Sirius just brushed it aside as if it were unimportant. Instead, Sirius kept telling Remus not to let Alex go, despite the fact that Alex wasn't there. Sirius kept insisting that she _was_ there if only Remus would _look_ for her. Then Hermione appeared, looking quite stern, and lectured him about letting her die because he couldn't find the Death Eater outpost in time.

All things considered, Remus felt he was entitled to wake up in a bad mood.

He had less than two weeks to find the outpost, and he had covered more than half the territory Severus had identified on foot, but he still hadn't been able to locate it. If he didn't find it before the deadline, they would have to rely on saving Hermione before she was taken, and he hated not having any way to protect her if anything went wrong.

Today he was following a small path that wound around among a couple of the larger hills. Much to his surprise, Cat appeared on the path just before midday.

"Good morning," he greeted her. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Remus kept walking as spoke, and Cat trotted along the path as well. As he approached a fork in the road and decided to head left, Cat darted ahead of him and took the path to the right. She stopped a few paces in and looked back at Remus.

"Sorry, I'm afraid I'm heading in the other direction," he said regretfully. It was a shame, as he had enjoyed her company – even for the short time he spent with her. Remus started to the left.

Cat streaked over to the left path and stopped abruptly in front of him, stamping a paw emphatically.

"Sorry," he apologized again, starting to step around her.

Cat _hissed_ at him, startling him into halting in mid-step. Cat had never acted at all hostile before.

"Cat, I need to continue down this path," he said reasonably, but very firmly, then started forward again.

Cat sprang at him, apparently trying to catch his arm.

"Hey," he protested.

Cat sprang again, and Remus jerked his arm up and out of her reach.

"_Stop_ that." He was trying to be nice about this – despite his mood – but this was getting ridiculous.

Cat launched herself toward his arm once more. Regretfully, Remus withdrew his wand from the sleeve of the arm she was trying to reach and held it ready. He had the bizarre notion that Cat gave him a look of resigned approval before slipping sideways into the underbrush. He waited a few moments, but she did not emerge, so he continued down the path.

Even though he did not see her most of the time, she was evidently tracking his movements from the shelter of the brush on either side of the path. Twice when he went to return his wand to his sleeve, she sprang out at him again.

_Damn it, can't you see I'm not in the mood to play games?_

It was the last thing he thought before he rounded a corner and saw the entrance to the outpost he had been searching for.

Unfortunately, the Death Eaters guarding the entrance also saw him.


	14. Out of the Outpost

Remus awoke slowly, and in darkness.

His head was pounding, his entire body ached, and he had to fight the urge to vomit. The darkness was actually a good thing in some ways, as he couldn't see the room spinning as he suspected it would have if his head was anything to go by. The air smelled dank and stale, and as he managed to sort through the aching pain that seemed to pervade his entire body, he realized that he was also very cold.

_Well, I've definitely found the outpost_, he thought ruefully.

He lifted a hand to see if, by some extremely unlikely miracle, he still had his wand, but was unsurprised to find it was no longer in his sleeve. In fact, he no longer had a sleeve. His robes were gone, he was barefoot, and he'd been stripped to what he'd once heard his grandmother refer to as "unmentionables." He repressed a stream of highly colorful words and then wondered why he'd bothered.

He reached out with his right hand and encountered a cold stone wall that felt unnervingly slimy to the touch. He started to try to duplicate the exploration with his left hand, but the preparatory tensing of his muscles sent waves of agony radiating through him. The urge to vomit redoubled, and he felt cold sweat springing from his skin. Closing his eyes again, he struggled to distance himself from the pain, and felt himself sinking.

When he woke next and opened his eyes, he could see a little. There was a faint orange-gold light speckling the wall. He wasn't in quite as much pain, and his stomach seemed to have settled a bit, but he had no inclination to move.

_You've got to move. You're too cold._

His mind was pleasantly insulated in a soft fog, and all he really wanted was to lose himself in it. It would be much easier to stop struggling, just for a little while. _James and Sirius would keep fighting_, he told himself firmly. _You've got to try_.

He put the overall hopelessness of his situation out of his mind and decided to focus on one thing at a time. Just sitting up would be a good first step.

It was much harder than he told himself it should be. He couldn't immediately summon up enough energy for the effort to jerk his body upright. It might have helped if he could have rolled a bit, but the wall was on his right and he didn't want to trigger any more pain on his injured left. Finally he managed it by focusing on swinging his legs around and off the side of whatever he was lying on and using his right hand to lever himself up.

When he got himself in this new position, his feet cold on the chilly stone floor, he was tempted to lean back against the wall, close his eyes and rest for just a moment, but decided he could not risk it. The fog was lifting a bit, and he needed to keep his mind as clear as possible. The effort of his exertion had left him shaky and in more pain, but the pain was helping to burn through the mental fog.

He looked around to see what else he could learn about where he was and found that he was in what appeared to be a very small dungeon cell - so tiny that the room was at least twice as tall as it was wide or long. A minuscule opening at the very top of the wall was the source of the smattering of light – late afternoon at a guess – was it still the same day? – but it was so small that he doubted he could squeeze out of it, even if he could have reached it and removed the bars, neither of which seemed possible.

Other than the slab on which he was now sitting, the only other features of note were a small hole in the floor – too small, unfortunately – and the cell door, which was impressively barred and without as much as a handle. The hinges were obviously located out of reach on the other side, and the only way to open it seemed to be with a key. He would have considered trying to pick the lock in the Muggle fashion if he had anything to use, but he didn't.

He forced his mind back to the immediate problem, his need to get warm. Telling himself that the exertion was good for him, he struggled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall with his right hand. The process was every bit as difficult as sitting up had been, but he reminded himself with grim humor that he didn't have anything else to do at the moment.

He tried counting his glacially slow circuits around the tiny cell, but was rather depressing and did nothing to distract his mind. He switched to making mental lists instead. He started with all the Charms he could remember, and then tried to put them in alphabetical order and list their properties. When he finished, he was strong enough to make use of the hole as the last light disappeared again.

No one came to give him water or food, and he wondered if he would see another living soul before he told himself not be morbid and went back to his lists.

Prompted by a stray thought of Sturgis Podmore, who was a descendant of the current leader of the headless hunt, he switched to listing the names of the descendants of the ghosts in Hogwarts who had attended the school. He was trying to remember whether the Gray Lady had left any heirs when he heard a muffled noise and looked up.

There were two green-gold eyes peering down at him from the tiny window high in the wall.

"_Cat?_" he demanded, astonished. His answer was an indistinct mewl that he took for agreement, although it didn't sound normal, immediately followed by the clink of metal against metal.

"What are you -" With a musical jangle, something hit him in the face. "Hey," he protested.

"Meow!" Now that he could hear her clearly, she sounded indignant.

"Okay, okay, but you did hit me right in the face." Remus felt around on the floor for whatever she had thrown at him. It hadn't felt like a fish, although he could have used something to eat. He was also terribly thirsty, and was wondering if there was any way he could get Cat to bring him some water when his hand closed on it.

_Keys!?_

They couldn't be the right keys, he couldn't be that lucky, but if she kept bringing him more maybe there was a chance. She had brought him a whole ring of them, a couple dozen to start with -

"Thank you," he said apologetically. "I appreciate your trying, even if they're not the right ones." Cat made a little sniffy sound he suspected indicated irritation. He started counting the keys on the ring. If he knew how many there were and started working his way around the ring in order, he could try them all, even if he couldn't see.

He hadn't even settled into a rhythm when, instead of spinning uselessly in the lock, the seventh key caught and opened it.

"I don't _believe_ it," he said aloud.

"Meow," she replied, still evidently annoyed.

"Thanks, Cat," Remus told her, starting through the door.

"_MEOW!_"

"What is it?" he asked stupidly. He wanted very badly to get out of here, but she had sounded so insistent that he stopped.

There was an odd whispery noise, and her eyes disappeared. He struggled to make something out in the nearly total absence of light. It looked like there was something waving through the bars of the window, but he couldn't tell what it was.

Then it hit him again, in the chest this time. He groped around and found she had thrown him a wand.

"_Lumos_," he whispered softly, seeing the glow of blue light fill the small cell. It wasn't his wand, but it would do. He looked up again at the window and saw Cat's tail withdrawing from the window just before her eyes reappeared.

She was glaring at him.

He beamed at her.

She blinked and sniffed again, looking ostentatiously away.

"Are you coming down, or shall I meet you outside?" Remus inquired politely. Cat turned to look back into the cell, her eyes narrowing and avoiding his gaze, then sprang lightly down on to the slab. She bunted her head quickly against him, and then darted down to the floor and out the door before he could respond to the unexpected gesture of affection.

Cat led him out of the dungeon unerringly, and he wondered if she had some Kneazle blood in her despite her coloring. He thought he heard human sounds - voices, or movement - a couple times, but they never saw anyone else. The only bad part of the escape was when the cold night air hit him as he stepped outside. He still had next to nothing in the way of clothing, and he realized with a start that it was even colder outside than it had been in the dungeon.

He had no idea where he was going. They went through a wooded area and up a slope when Cat hesitated for the first time. She turned to regard him with luminous eyes, and he tried to stifle some of his shaking. Then she led him decisively downhill for a time, which puzzled him until he heard the whispery flow of water. Cat took a few delicate laps and then waited politely as he drank his fill.

When he was finished, she turned and marched him back up the slope again. They didn't exactly retrace their route, but they were obviously heading for a higher point on the same hill. Remus was wondering how much longer he could keep this up - his arm was aching noticeably - when Cat disappeared behind some shrubbery.

Following after her, he found himself at the hidden entrance to a cave, well concealed in the greenery. He had to duck to get in, and then the passage continued on a little way before turning sharply and opening up into a small room. It had a lower ceiling than the cell he had just left and only a little more floor space, but as a hiding place it was close to perfect.

Cat was sitting in the center washing herself with elaborate unconcern. Remus joined her gratefully on the floor, carefully avoiding any further damage to his painful left side.

"Thank you," he told her gratefully. "I wouldn't have been in there if I'd listened to you when you tried to warn me. It was very gracious of you to get me out in spite of myself." It was a fulsome apology to make to a cat, but he had gotten used to talking to her as if she were a person, and a little courtesy never hurt.

Cat stopped washing herself as he spoke and settled herself down in a seated position, her tail curled neatly about her. When he finished, she looked sideways at him for a moment, then stood up and yawned. Remus took this to mean that while she wasn't quite speaking to him yet, she was open to further gestures of appeasement.

"I wish I could think of some way to show my appreciation," he continued, shivering more intently now that he had stopped moving. He was still too cold, although he remembered that shivering was a good sign. Still not fully facing him, Cat rotated her head in his direction and stared fixedly at the wand he was holding. As Remus caught her meaning, he was embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it himself.

"Sorry," he said again, and started casting. In addition to a general Heating Charm, he conjured up a magical fire that crackled cheerfully in the center of the small cave. Cat immediately moved to lie recumbent in front of the fire, her eyes half closed, and Remus suspected he was being forgiven.

He still needed to let the Headmaster know that he had found the outpost, but his safest way of making contact – a talisman Dumbledore had enchanted – had disappeared with his wand and his clothes. Perhaps he could work out a combination of charms that would give them some reasonable chance of speaking without being overheard, but that could wait until he had a little sleep and warmed up a bit.

Remus studied his painful left arm, and was unable to determine what had caused the problem. There was a motley assortment of angry colors twisting beneath the skin, and it was now quite swollen from his upper arm down past his elbow, but he wasn't sure how to cure it. He thought about a general Healing Charm, but he was wary of them now that he knew they could be trapped. Grimacing, he decided to leave it for the time being as well.

Considering carefully, he conjured up a puffy blue sleeping bag to use in place of a bed, hoping it would last until he woke up.

"Want one?" he asked sleepily as he slid into it, but Cat did not respond. A moment later, he was asleep.

--------------

Remus woke gradually, deliciously warm and comfortable. He was pleased with how effective the spells he cast had been until he discovered that the source of some of the warmth was curled up on his chest, apparently asleep. Remus was quite content to lie there, lethargic and pleasurably warm as he waited for Cat to wake up. When she did, she opened her eyes slowly, blinking lazily in his direction.

"Good morning," he greeted her.

She yawned, and then stretched, still lying on his chest. Her tail brushed his right side but avoided the left without appearing to do so.

Cat stood up, still on his chest, and shook herself irritably as the top part of the sleeping bag rose with her. Remus obligingly moved it aside and was relieved to find that the room temperature was at least tolerable, if not as comfortable as the cozy little cocoon he had shared with Cat.

She moved her paws up and down a bit on his chest as if testing them, and then crouched to survey his left arm. Her whiskers twitched forward and she reached out with single forepaw to touch his upper arm very gently. Withdrawing her paw, her tail swished swiftly across his right side a few times and she made an odd little noise he could not interpret before she sprang lightly to the ground and trotted off.

Remus would have preferred to stay where he was, but without Cat's warmth he was starting to feel a touch of chill seeping in, and he ought to get in touch with Albus. All that was needed to make this mission a rousing failure was to be recaptured without letting anyone know where the outpost was. Grimacing, he levered himself up. Sleep had dulled some of the pain in his arm, but it seemed to be waking up with the rest of him.

Setting the pain aside, he raised his Cat-scavenged wand and began a series of charms that he hoped would give him a reasonably secure line of communication to Dumbledore. The response came almost immediately, and he gave the Headmaster a very succinct report.

"I'll send a Portkey right away," Dumbledore promised as soon as he had finished, "and we'll have Poppy take a look at you."

Remus shook his head. "If I've lasted this long, I'm not going to die waiting for a Portkey to be properly authorized through normal channels," he pointed out. "There's no point in drawing unnecessary attention – or antagonizing the Ministry – with an unauthorized Portkey when a legitimate one will serve just as well."

"Are you sure?" Remus nodded. "Very well then," the Headmaster conceded. "But I can still pull a few strings to speed things along. Half an hour to forty-five minutes," he promised, and promptly severed the connection. The image Remus had been addressing disappeared a moment before Cat trotted around the corner.

She was bringing him another fish.


	15. Hermione in the Middle

Alex trotted down the hall in search of Hermione.

While she knew it wasn't much of a sacrifice and not the sort of thing she should be complaining about – even silently to herself – she _really_ wanted to be able to go back to her normal form and eat something other than fish. _Anything_ other than fish. Cheeseburgers. Pasta. Caesar salad with chicken. Even the canned food Remus had found so depressing.

Alex started to order herself to stop thinking about him, but it would have been a wasted thought. She had meant to stay strictly away from him, but found herself making excuses to break that self-imposed rule. When she had run across him while looking for the Death Eater outpost and realized he was bored with his diet, she told herself that she would just bring him a fish and leave. They were easy enough for her to catch in this form although the river water right now was very cold on her paws.

Somehow things had gotten out of hand – and now she couldn't even leave until she got her wand back! Sleeping on his chest last night she could justify on medical grounds – well, sort of – but if he ever found out about this form and remembered that head bunt …

Alex found herself looking for a nice piece of furniture to hide under until she restored her fur to order.

There were times when this cat business was awfully confusing. The cat had all these instincts, but it also had feline translations of her human instincts, and Alex wasn't experienced enough at being a cat to distinguish them all the time. How was she supposed to behave normally as a cat around Remus when she wasn't sure what that meant? It was amazing that she managed to avoid detection so far, considering that his three closest friends had been Animagi – not to mention how long he had known Minerva McGonagall.

_Which is part of the reason you decided to stay away from him in the first place_.

A passing scent caught her attention, and she paused and tasted the air. It was Crookshanks; he would know where Hermione was. Alex smoothly changed course and headed off to find Crookshanks.

The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could get out of here and go back to her normal life. Well, her other life. Not exactly normal, but at least there was more variety in the food.

Deep dish pepperoni pizza.

---------

"Where were you?" Ron asked as Harry slid into the seat beside him.

"Later," was all Harry had time to manage before class began.

Ron silently mimed eating with a questioning look, and Harry nodded before turning his attention to the class.

When class finally ended, Harry assembled his books very slowly to allow the rest of the class to clear out. Most of the other students were already disappearing down the corridor when he and Ron finally emerged to find Hermione waiting just outside the door.

"Remus is here," Harry told them, speaking very quietly even through the corridor was clear, "in the Room of Requirement until Thursday."

"Did he say why?" Ron asked.

"Not really," Harry admitted, "but it was still nice to get to see him."

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

"Mostly okay," Harry answered cautiously as they started walking. Ron and Hermione both looked at him, so he added defensively, "Well, what did you expect? Whatever he's been doing lately, I doubt it was a lot of fun for him. He had some sort of pumpkin-colored paste all over one of his arms, although he said it had stopped hurting – and there's a full moon on Christmas Eve this year – and it's the first Christmas since Sirius was killed –" Harry stopped speaking abruptly. He hadn't meant to say the last part out loud.

Ron looked at Harry helplessly, and Hermione was regarding Harry sympathetically.

"Anyway, I'm glad I got to see him at lunch," Harry continued after an awkward silence, "especially with Quidditch practice later."

"You're having Quidditch practice _tonight_?" Hermione demanded, regarding Ron severely.

"Well, yeah," Ron sounded bemused.

"But it's the last week of classes before the holidays," Hermione protested. "Almost all of them have exams or essays due!"

"Hermione, I _know_ it's the last week of classes. That's why we have to practice," Ron argued. "It's the last chance we'll have before the holidays!"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but seemed to suddenly change her mind. "All right, then, practice if you want," she said in a relatively mild tone, "but I'm not going to stay up late to help you with any of your assignments because of it. You two go on ahead, I've remembered something I want to check on."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged before continuing down the hall and around the corner.

---------

Hermione regarded the little dark cat sitting placidly in the hallway with interest. Examined closely, its dark fur was tipped with silver-blue, and its liquid green-gold eyes returned her gaze intelligently. Hermione marched into the nearest empty classroom and shut the door.

"Hello, Alex," she said.

Alex shifted back to her normal form.

"I thought you might figure it out," she replied. "You're the only one who has so far."

Hermione swung an overflowing book bag on to the table behind her and then leaned against it.

"Professor Lupin doesn't know?" she inquired.

"No," Alex said shortly, "and I'd rather he didn't."

"Why not?"

Alex hesitated.

"Is it because of Sirius?" Hermione persisted.

The older woman's eyes were wary.

"How did you find out about that?" she asked slowly.

"Your sudden appearance at Grimmauld Place before he was killed, your disappearance afterwards, and what Professor Lupin said about your disagreeing with Professor Dumbledore about how something should be handled," Hermione ticked off methodically. "It was enough for me to figure it out, even without your warning to me about the attack this weekend. I had a time turner myself second year."

Alex ignored the time turner reference – there was no reason to get into all that alternative universe business – and traced a finger idly along some meaningless lines carved into the corner of a desk.

"I expect he's very angry with me," she said at last.

"No, not at all," Hermione assured her. "Just worried." Alex looked rather doubtful, but did not reply. "He doesn't _blame_ you," the younger woman added.

"But it's my fault! If I'd –" Alex pressed her lips firmly together, deeply regretting her outburst.

"That isn't the way he described it," Hermione told her very firmly, "and even if he didn't say so, I think he's a little hurt that you haven't been in touch. He understands your avoiding Dumbledore, but he doesn't understand why you're avoiding him."

"I'm not really," Alex parried with a ghost of a smile. "I just didn't think he'd want to see me after - what happened."

"Well, I'm sure he does," Hermione insisted. Alex sighed slightly.

"That really isn't why I'm here," she pointed out. She could not get distracted right now; she needed to focus on saving Hermione.

"No, but it's important," Hermione argued. "He's really a very nice man, and he doesn't deserve this."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you could specify exactly what I'm doing at present that he doesn't deserve?" she suggested in a tightly controlled voice.

"Letting him worry about whether you're all right," Hermione answered immediately, unintimidated. "It wouldn't hurt you to take two minutes to send him a note!"

"I've told you, he doesn't want -"

"Yes, he does," Hermione insisted, cutting her off and pushing past the limits on Alex's still-shaky temper.

"For heaven's sake, Hermione, I got his best friend _killed_!" Alex exploded, feeling as if she were going to burst out of her skin. She wanted to run, or to throw something that would make a satisfying smashing sound as it hit the wall, and instead she was standing here being lectured by a girl half her age who was going to die herself very soon if she couldn't fix it, and Hermione wouldn't even _listen_. "Remus watched him die right in front of his eyes because I screwed up! I didn't just break a wine glass that I need to replace, _Sirius is dead_!"

"It amazes me that so _many_ people seem to hold themselves solely responsible for one man's death," Hermione said conversationally. "Dumbledore blames himself, Harry thinks it's his fault, and now you're queuing up to take the responsibility. The only thing that would amaze me more would be seeing Bellatrix Lestrange beating her breast over Sirius' death, but it doesn't seem to bother her. It would simplify things a great deal if everyone involved could manage to remember just who was holding the wand that night!"

Hermione was regarding her with coolly determined brown eyes, and Alex turned to look out the window as she composed herself and gathered her thoughts. There may have been an element of truth in what Hermione said, but it didn't make any difference at this point. The fact that Bellatrix had actually cast the killing curse did not relieve her of her own responsibility - because she could have stopped it. Instead of acting herself, she had let Dumbledore "take care of it" for her and he hadn't. That wasn't going to happen again. She was going to save Hermione and her parents, and with a pang she realized that she might have to hurt Remus again to do it.

"If I agree to send him a note can we change the subject?" Alex asked tautly.

"Certainly," Hermione agreed with composure. "Would you like some parchment and a quill?"

Alex nodded jerkily, but stared blankly at the parchment when she accepted it with no idea what to write. How on earth could she apologize for something like this? She was grimly aware of Hermione waiting patiently, and decided the best she could manage was to keep it as short as possible and make it clear she wasn't trying to inflict herself on Remus in the midst of his grief. Considering how much time she was actually spending with him, albeit unknown to him, the whole situation was ridiculous. Quickly penning a few lines, she folded the parchment, but then hesitated before handing it to Hermione.

"I really don't want him finding out about me," she told the young woman firmly. "I know you think you're helping, but that wouldn't."

Hermione reached out and took the parchment. "Deal," she said simply, tucking the parchment away in her bag. "Now," she began, settling back against the table again, "what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I found the outpost," Alex said with noticeable sarcasm. "If we've covered whatever you seem to think has a higher priority than the prospect of your imminent death, I thought we might find a few minutes to talk about that."

"Can you mark it on a map?" Hermione asked calmly.

"No," Alex admitted. "The outpost itself seems to be unplottable – but certain landmarks around the outpost are _not_ unplottable, so I've marked those instead." She produced the map and indicated the spots. "This little cave is in a good location, and it's very well concealed."

"Can I have this one?" Hermione asked, referring to the map.

"Sure," Alex shrugged, "I know where it is without it, and so does Remus. If you're taken there, we'll know where you are and be able to get you out – although I'd prefer to make sure that doesn't happen."

Hermione glanced up from stowing the map in her book bag with a tinge of amusement. "I'm not the only one who could end up there, you know. It could be that we need to get _you _out!"

Alex went cold. "Don't even joke about that," she ordered flatly. Hermione looked a little startled.

"Alex?"

"I mean it." She needed to keep Hermione alive, not just change the manner of her death.

Hermione leaned back against the table again. "If you don't want to go through with it, I'll completely understand."

Alex snorted. "Of course I'll go through with it," she retorted easily, realizing that Hermione had missed the point, "but if – by some bizarre coincidence or really strange turn of events – I should happen to be captured, _no one_ is to come after me. You are _not _to put yourselves at risk over me. Not under any circumstances." She said this with such absolute finality that Hermione fell silent, apparently thinking.

When the younger woman did speak, she simply said, "Well, I suppose we'll just have to make sure none of us are captured," before passing on lightly to another topic. "I should get confirmation from Viktor tomorrow, and the Potion will be ready on Wednesday."

------------------

Poppy had finally pronounced herself satisfied with Remus' arm, allowing him to bathe – something he had been looking forward to eagerly – and to wash the dark orange paste off. Underneath it, the nasty swirl of colors was no longer visible under the skin, although it did still have a faintly yellow tinge to it, making it look a bit like a very old bruise in the last stages of healing. Fortunately, it no longer hurt him, and the absence of pain and a visit from Harry had done a great deal to raise his spirits, even if Remus was still a bit overtired. The only real cause for concern at the moment was the fact that he seemed to have lost Cat at some point. Remus hadn't seen Cat since she left that morning, and while he had a good deal of confidence in her ability to take care of herself, he found that he rather missed having her around.

He was looking around after supper for something to read when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, he found Hermione Granger. Neither Ron nor Harry were with her, which made him wonder if Dumbledore had changed his mind and told her of the planned attacks tonight instead of later in the week.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted her with a smile that hid his concern. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Professor," she replied with composure. He gestured her to a chair and she seated herself with aplomb.

"What can I do for you?" he inquired as he seated himself.

"I wanted to deliver this," she explained, leaning over to retrieve a small piece of folded parchment from her bag and handing it to him. Slightly puzzled, he unfolded it and read.

"_Remus,_

_Hermione seemed to think you might be worried about me. If you are, I wanted to let you know that I'm fine. I'm more sorry than I can say for what happened to Sirius._

_Alex"_

Once he got over his initial pleasure that Alex was all right and that she was communicating with him at last, the brief note rather puzzled him. He re-read it a few times to see if it would make more sense.

"She thought you'd be angry with her for allowing Sirius to die." Hermione's voice intruded on his thoughts and he looked up in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm afraid I didn't catch that," he apologized politely.

"Alex thinks you blame her for Sirius' death," she explained patiently.

"You can't mean that," he protested in disbelief.

"Of course I do," Hermione told him calmly. "From her perspective, she came here to save him and failed. She feels terribly guilty about it."

"She doesn't have anything to feel guilty about!"

"There's no point in telling me that, I agree with you - but Alex doesn't."

Remus stared at her blankly as he considered this. The idea that Alex thought he blamed her for Sirius' death was a new one, but in retrospect, it should have been obvious. For some reason, he hadn't made the connection. He had been so focused on how _they_ had betrayed _her_ that it simply hadn't occurred to him that she might be feeling something similar. Dumbledore might have asked her to keep him in the dark, but he had known that she was concealing something and had chosen not to push her. Now he wasn't sure whether it was concern for her health that had led him to refrain from trying harder to break down the barrier he sensed between them or his own insecurities - but either way it had blinded him to what she was really feeling.

He focused again on Hermione. "Please tell her that for me when you see her again. And that - you are going to see her again aren't you?" Hermione nodded.

"It might be more convincing coming from you, though," she added. "I've tried to tell her that already but she doesn't believe me - and she really didn't want to discuss it with me in the first place."

"Do you think she'll agree to see me?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "All you can do is ask." She glanced at the parchment in his hand, and he caught her meaning immediately.

"When are you going to see her again? Can you wait while I write something, or should I -"

"I don't know, and yes," she interrupted him, opening her book bag and rummaging through it. "I can wait if you don't mind my getting a start on my Arithmancy homework," she added, handing him a spare quill and some parchment before pulling out her textbook.

"Thank you," Remus said gratefully, rising to retreat to the desk to write to Alex. It was more difficult than he expected, as the words he inked on the parchment didn't seem to really express what he wanted to tell her. As he crumpled up his first attempt, glancing at Hermione who was occupied with her book and not paying him any particular attention, he found a stack of fresh parchment in one of the desk drawers and started again.

He had wasted a good deal more parchment before he finally rose to take her the note for Alex, only seeing how late it was as he walked across the room. Hermione was still absorbed in her textbook, albeit a different one, when he returned to the seat next to her.

"I'm sorry about the time, Hermione. I didn't realize it was so late." She looked up as he spoke, and then she smiled.

"It wasn't a problem, Professor. It's actually quieter here than in the library or the common room. I got a lot done," she told him kindly, accepting the note as she started to repack her bag.

"How did you meet Alex?" he asked curiously, a little embarrassed that it hadn't occurred to him to ask earlier.

"She had some things she wanted to discuss with me," Hermione answered calmly. There was a brief silence as Remus absorbed this.

"She told you, didn't she?" _Of course she did. I should have known._

"Yes."

"Hermione, we _are_ taking steps to protect you," he assured her quickly, "_and _your parents. The Headmaster was planning to tell you about it before you left on holiday, but he didn't want to distract you from your studies."

"Alex took a different approach," she returned. "One that involved telling me far enough in advance to let me get adjusted to the idea rather than keeping me in the dark until the last minute and then springing it on me out of the blue!"

The flash of anger in her eyes was understandable, but he had also caught a slight trace of hurt as well. Both of them dissipated almost immediately.

"Hermione –"

"If you're going to tell me that the Headmaster was only doing what he thought best, I already know that," Hermione told him with resignation, "and I'm sorry I snapped at you. I _do_ understand why he did it – I haven't said anything to Ron or Harry because I don't want them to worry – or to do anything stupid – and I suppose he didn't say anything to me for the same reasons."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Remus apologized, "but I can assure you that it never occurred to me that you would do anything _stupid_." He saw a flash of humor in her eyes which relieved his mind. She really was one of the brightest witches he knew, and they should have had more confidence in her, he admitted privately to himself.

"I _had_ planned to impress Professor Dumbledore with how well I handled the news," Hermione said deliberately, regarding him with an air of assessment, "in the hope that it might help him make a different decision if this ever comes up again."

"I won't say anything to Dumbledore about your knowing already if you don't want me to," he promised immediately, and Hermione smiled.

"Thank you, Professor."

---------------

Ron and Harry both looked up – as did everyone else in the Gryffindor common room – when the lithe, dark bird swooped in the following night. Seamus surprised everyone by breaking the sudden silence.

"That's a peregrine falcon!" Seamus announced, obviously surprised, as it landed neatly on Hermione's table. A few people darted nervous glances at Hermione, but she didn't seem at all upset and was untying the message from the falcon's leg very calmly, so conversation gradually began to return to normal. Seamus got up and walked over to study the unusual bird, and Ginny Weasley handed Dean Thomas a spare bit of parchment with a smile. Dean's quill flew across it rapidly as he started sketching.

"Hardly see them much anymore," Seamus was saying. "The government encouraged people to kill them for years. Wanted to protect the carrier pigeons during the wars, and nearly wiped them out in the process. They're only starting to come back. Gorgeous bird. Good fliers too – fast and deadly. Who does it belong to?"

"Viktor Krum," Hermione answered absently as she read her letter. "They're more common where he's from."

Ron rose with a jerk that jarred the table and stormed angrily from the room.

"Forgot something in the dorm," Harry said quickly in response to surprised looks from Seamus, Dean, and Ginny – Hermione had been absorbed in her letter and only looked up for a moment as though not quite sure where she was before returning to it. "Back in a minute."

He found Ron in their dormitory, but barely got his mouth open before his best friend cut him off.

"Forget it, Harry," Ron said curtly, rummaging in his trunk for his pajamas.

"Just _talk _to her."

"_She's still writing to Viktor_." Ron bit out the words as if they were an accusation.

"If _I_ weren't here, she'd be writing to _me_," Harry protested. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

"I told you to drop it."

"Ron, you can't keep on like this."

Ron slammed the lid of his truck closed and retorted, "_Watch me!_"

"You think this is better?" Harry argued. "You just bolted up here like something was chasing you. Hermione's not stupid, she's probably in the common room right now wondering what's wrong with you."

Ron turned on him, his faded pajama top clutched in a white-knuckled hand. "You can't expect me to sit there and watch her read a letter from _him._"

Harry's temper boiled over. "_Yes, I bloody well do_! You keep _saying_ you don't want to risk ruining your friendship and then you do something like _this_! You can't have it both ways. I think keeping silent is one of the thickest ideas I've ever heard in my life, but if you are utterly _determined_ to make sure there is no possibility you will _ever_ have a chance with her then I guess I can't stop you. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. And you can start keeping it shut around me too! I am sick to death of listening to you whinging about ruining your friendship when you haven't got the guts to do anything about it other than behave like a real git! If you and Hermione are only going to be just friends you can bloody well _act_ like her friend – and that means you don't get to storm out of the room in a snit just because the post arrives." Harry didn't realize he was bellowing until Neville, looking a little alarmed, hurried in and shut the door to their dormitory behind him.

"Sorry, Harry, but I could hear you shouting on the stair," Neville explained apologetically. "Shall I go back down? I was only coming to get my Advanced Herbology book."

Harry's outburst left him feeling calmer, but not even seeing Ron's stricken expression could make him retract it. Ron was his best friend, but Harry still felt it had needed to be said.

"I'm going back to the common room now," Harry said evenly. "I will bring your bag upstairs when I come up for the night, but don't ask me to lie for you. If you want to give Hermione some lame excuse for your behavior tonight you'll have to do it yourself." Then he turned and walked out, leaving Ron alone in their dormitory with Neville.

Hermione looked up anxiously when he came back into the common room and returned to the table where she had been helping them revise when the letter that sparked Ron's overly-hasty departure had arrived.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in a low voice as soon as Harry was within range to hear her.

Harry shrugged. Then, as Hermione looked as though she were going to press him further about Ron's sudden departure, he changed the subject. "Any suggestions on my essay?" he asked. "It's due on Thursday, so if I need to revise it, I had better get started."

------------

A/N – Thank you to my reviewers, as a little encouragement is always very welcome – especially when you're juggling two very different stories at the same time, each of them long and somewhat complex. I think a little more romance has crept into this than I originally planned, so I have changed the category on this piece accordingly.

This chapter did finally confirm what some of you had already figured out and Remus had not. ;-) I'm afraid he's going to remain in the dark about Cat for a while – after all, this story does span more than five years. For those of you who are wondering, however, Remus does get to see Alex again (not Cat) by the end of the year. We're up to the evening of December 17th, so he doesn't have too much longer to wait –

Thank you again for your support.


	16. Quidditch Conversations

Ron was very quiet at breakfast on Wednesday, but he didn't seem to be avoiding Harry. Hermione, who was looking a little abstracted herself – although that was hardly unusual during exam week – didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Ron walked along with Harry to their classroom, and when they arrived, Harry took his usual seat and glanced at Ron in inquiry. Ron answered the look apologetically and swung his book bag under his usual seat next to Harry. Harry grinned at him in relief, and Ron returned it, still looking a little abashed. Harry sat down feeling much better. He _hated _it when he and Ron weren't getting on.

"So," Harry started conversationally in the last few moments before their examination began, "think you're ready for this?" Ron made a face.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he retorted gamely.

-------------

_Alex,_

_I was very pleased to hear from you, and relieved to know that you're safe. I have been worried - partly about your safety, and partly because I had hoped we were becoming friends and I was concerned when you left so abruptly. I'm sorry it needed Hermione stepping in to convince you to write to me - but I'm very thankful that she did. I can understand that your experience with wizards has not been a happy one, but I hope that you can find it in your heart to give some of us another chance. _

_Even if there's nothing I can do for you at present, I would like very much just to see you. Without a means of contacting you safely, I will have to wait for you contact me, which I hope you will do very soon. I am looking forward to hearing from you._

_Warmest regards,_

_Remus_

Alex looked up doubtfully at Hermione as she finished reading the note.

"He doesn't _sound_ very mad," she said dubiously. Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes.

"I told you he doesn't blame you," Hermione insisted, adding persuasively, "and he really has been _terribly_ worried about you."

Alex seemed a bit nonplussed. "I wrote that I was fine," she protested.

"Well, Professor Lupin is the kind of person who says he's fine when he's really not so other people won't worry," Hermione pointed out craftily, "and he's probably afraid you might do the same thing. I doubt he'll stop worrying completely until he gets to see you in person."

"_See_ me?" Alex – who had calmly discussed other plans which would put her in a great deal of real danger – now sounded quite nervous. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Hermione checked her natural reaction to this. After all, Professor Lupin was a very nice man, not to mention highly intelligent, well informed, and fairly attractive for his age. Hermione's first inclination was to point this out, but dealing with Alex was like dealing with a stubborn and rather balky horse in some ways – at least on the subject of Professor Lupin. She was quite reasonable otherwise, but strangely reluctant to believe that he didn't hate her, and Hermione sensed that trying to drive her too far would spook her. Hermione had to settle for coaxing her gently in the right direction – well, maybe the almost-blackmail was a little more forceful, but needs must – and hoping that persistence would pay off.

At the moment, she settled for telling Alex, "It would relieve his mind." Alex caught her lower lip between her teeth anxiously.

"Right now, the most important thing is protecting you and your family," she decided. "This is something I can worry about after the holidays."

"But he's here right now, which would make it much more convenient if you were to stop by even for just a few minutes. And he can't have a lot of visitors since most people aren't even supposed to know he's here. It's probably really difficult for him right now, with the full moon coming up next Tuesday this year. I hate to have him worried unnecessarily – especially so close to Christmas." Hermione sensed Alex weakening a little.

"Maybe I could stop by if I have a few minutes," she said at last before firmly changing the subject. "Now, I know we've been over the plan before, but I'd like to go through it one more time and make sure everything's in place."

The next interval was spent meticulously reviewing every detail of the plan to protect the Grangers from the anticipated attack that weekend, when Hermione returned home.

"It looks like everything should be set," Alex concluded. She shot another piercing look at Hermione, "Are you sure you don't want to switch?" Hermione nodded.

"I think it's both easier and safer this way. Besides," she added with a smile, "the sleeping arrangements shouldn't be a distraction. I think I'll stick to my own bed!"

"The middle of a war is hardly the best time for romance," Alex agreed absently, "however you are probably the primary target."

"But I know what's coming," Hermione pointed out, "and I have for quite some time, which makes a big difference. Plus, I'll have whatever protection the Order comes up with as well."

"Any news on that yet?"

"No. They're not planning to tell me until after classes are finished on Friday," Hermione said knowingly. "They don't want to worry me until they have to. I'm guessing they've arranged a guard for the house, but I'm not clear on whether there's anything beyond that."

Alex frowned for a moment, and then shrugged. "Well, I guess we've done the best we can for the moment. I'll pick up the Potion tonight before I head out to meet Viktor." Hermione nodded and began to gather up her things when Alex started.

"What if they haven't told you because they're not letting you go home? What if they plan to send a substitute that we don't know about?" Hermione froze.

"I never thought of that!" she said in an almost wail, her mind racing, "and Neville said Professor Snape wanted some of the fluxweed!"

Alex thought rapidly. "It won't make any difference on our end," she concluded aloud. "It would be nice to know, but it really isn't necessary."

"I am _not_ going to be kept away," Hermione said very forcefully, a muscle moving in her temple as her jaw clenched. "I refuse to be driven out of my home by Voldemort and his pack of masked Death Eaters!"

Comprehension was writ large on Alex's face as she regarded the younger woman sympathetically. "I'm willing to let you make that choice – as long as you really understand what you're risking – but then I'm not really the issue here."

Hermione pressed her lips together. "I suppose we'd better come up with a recognition signal of some kind," she said at last.

------------

Harry had to wait for Hermione to arrive in the common room after dinner so she could look over the revisions to his essay. Despite the huge tower of books surrounding her, he and Ron had joined her at her table tonight rather than the sofa they had used earlier in the year.

"That's much better, Harry," she said approvingly when she had finished reading it. "You've got a lot more support for your second point now."

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully, rolling up the parchment. "If I'm not back when you go up, can you take my things with you?" he asked Ron.

"Sure, mate," Ron promised immediately.

"Are you –?" Hermione trailed off meaningfully.

"Yeah," Harry affirmed. "He'll be leaving tomorrow. See you later."

Remus was looking better than he had when he first arrived when Harry saw him tonight, despite the empty goblet sitting on the small table next to his chair. Remus caught Harry looking at it and smiled.

"It's still much better than the alternatives, I assure you," Remus told him as he gestured Harry to the other chair in front of the small fire and set his book down. "You seem to be in a good mood," he observed.

"Well, I think I did fairly well on my exam this morning, and Ron doesn't seem to be too angry with me," Harry told him as he settled down. Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Is there any reason why he should be?" he asked calmly.

Harry flushed. "Well, I sort of lost my temper and yelled at him last night," he confessed guiltily.

"Bad mood?" Remus asked kindly, looking very sympathetic.

"Well, sort of," Harry replied awkwardly, "Ron kept telling me how much he liked someone, but he wouldn't _do _anything, and then I just bawled him out about it." It sounded even stupider when he said it like that. "It _seemed_ like the right thing to say at the time, but then I starting thinking about losing my best friend over something so _stupid_ and it just didn't seem that important any more." He was also sick of feeling like he was stuck in the middle between Ron and Hermione, but he wasn't going to say that or it would be obvious who Ron liked.

"I think sometimes part of being a good friend is telling someone what they _need_ to hear, whether or not they _want_ to," Remus said thoughtfully. "It requires a great deal of courage to risk your friendship like that – courage I wish _I'd _had more of at your age – but when you're doing it for your friend's sake, it can be very powerful. Maybe part of the reason Ron understood is because he knew you wouldn't have said it if you didn't care."

"Maybe," Harry mumbled, still embarrassed about the whole thing. He wasn't even sure why he had brought it up, but Remus was always such a good listener. "I'm just glad he isn't angry with me. I think that would have ruined even Quidditch!"

------------

Alex was still debating whether or not she should be there even as she stood outside the door to the Room of Requirement. 'Cat' had retrieved her wand last night while Remus was asleep, so she really had no justification for seeing him again – except that Hermione said he was worried.

And she didn't want him to worry.

The idea that she was causing him to worry after everything else she'd done to him – Alex winced. But the 'everything else' was exactly why she shouldn't be here.

Maybe he was just a _little_ worried because he was such a kind person, but when he got over that he would realize that he couldn't actually _want_ to see her after the part she had played in Sirius' death – except maybe to yell at her. Which she deserved. And he was certainly entitled to yell at her if he wanted to. It would just be cowardly to run away from that – she would be avoiding it for herself and not for him.

_I guess I'd better get it over with,_ Alex decided. Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she squared her shoulders, raised her hand and knocked.

------------

Remus went to open the door, and was shocked to find Alex on the other side.

"Hi," she said nervously.

Without thinking about it, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes to savor the moment. After an instant's hesitation, her own arms crept hesitantly around him to not-quite return the embrace, but far too soon he could feel her withdrawing. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he forced himself to release her as she pulled away, but he managed to retain a gentle hold on one of her hands.

"Please come in," he suggested hopefully, and Alex took a tentative step forward before her eyes fell on Harry.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she demurred.

"You're not," Remus insisted, wishing Harry to Jericho for the first time in his life. Fortunately, Harry came to his assistance by rising to greet her.

"Hello," he said simply, extending his hand. "I'm Harry Potter." While Remus had to give up her hand as she moved forward to respond to the courtesy, it got her all the way into the room. He smiled gratefully at Harry as he shut the door.

"Alexandra Brent," Alex was returning politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Remus realized with a start that he had never known her surname; he'd always thought of her as 'Alex.'

"Please have a seat," Remus suggested with a calmness he didn't feel. He tried to remember what he and Harry had been discussing. "Harry was just telling me about this year's Gryffindor Quidditch Team," he ventured.

Alex chatted normally with Harry while Remus poured her a cup of cocoa from the service that appeared on a side table and pulled another chair up to the fire, although Remus noted that she subtly managed the conversation so that Harry did most of the talking. When Harry rose to take his leave a few minutes later, Remus pressed his hand rather harder than normal in unspoken gratitude.

----------------

When Harry returned to the common room, Ron and Hermione were both still in place at Hermione's usual table. They looked up when he came in.

"You're back early," Ron observed. "I thought you'd be gone longer." Harry could hear a trace of disappointment in his voice, and wondered if Hermione could hear it too. He gave Ron a quick, apologetic glance.

"So did I, but –" Harry looked around the crowded common room, pulled out a chair at the table and sat down so he could speak with less chance of being overheard. "He had another visitor, so I left."

"Who was it?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Well, she said her name was Alexandra Brent," Harry said carefully.

"You mean the 'Alex' from the diary?" Ron interjected, looking a little bewildered.

"I think so." He hesitated. "Her hair's a little different, but I'm pretty sure she's the witch who helped me when I missed the coach back from that outing over the summer."

"Well, what happened?" Hermione hissed at him, lowering her voice as a group of third years stopped to talk nearby.

Harry lowered his voice as well, even though he didn't think there was anything else of importance to say. "Nothing happened. She came in, we all talked for a bit, and I left." Hermione looked thoroughly exasperated.

"Even _you_ must have noticed more than that!" she protested.

"Like what?"

"How did they look, what did you talk about, that sort of thing."

Harry turned to look at Ron, who looked as blank as Harry felt.

"You mean their clothes?" Harry concentrated. "Well, Remus was wearing a –"

"Not their _clothes_," Hermione interrupted impatiently, "_them_. How did _they_ look?"

"Well, he looked like he was happy to see her," Harry ventured. "He hugged her. And he invited her in. Then we talked about Quidditch. And I left."

"_Quidditch_!" Hermione repeated, her voice rising. The third-years nearby turned to look at her, so she lowered it again, looking very disgruntled. "You talked about _Quidditch_?"

"Well, yeah."

Hermione muttered something under her breath. Harry decided he was better off not hearing it. Then she added more normally, "Well, at least they hugged. You _did _say he hugged her, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she _let_ him hug her?" Hermione pressed.

"Yeah. Not very long," Harry ventured, feeling very inadequate as a source of information under the strain of Hermione's rather fierce gaze, "but she did let him hug her a little."

"Well, that's something, anyway," she conceded.

Ron was regarding Hermione with some confusion. "Why are you asking so many questions?" he asked, obviously puzzled. "It's not like you know her or anything. Why do you care whether she let Professor Lupin hug her or not?"

"Oh, I just wondered, that's all," Hermione said quickly. "Now, what was it you were asking me about your Astronomy chart?"

------------

Remus saw Alex set her cocoa down nervously as the door closed behind Harry and he made his way back to his seat.

"Alex, how _are_ you?" he asked, hearing the urgent note in his voice as he spoke and trying to calm himself down.

"Fine," she said quickly. "I'm fine. How are you?"

Remus studied her – nervous, stressed, still underweight but not nearly as much as before – and wished he could smooth away the faint lines of tension around her eyes. She needed coddling, he decided possessively, but she seemed to be basically unhurt and she was _here_.

With him.

He could feel a smile spreading across his face.

"You don't know a _thing_ about Quidditch, do you?" he said instead of answering her question. Their eyes met, and he saw the answering flash of amusement in hers.

"I'm afraid not," she admitted ruefully. "Do you think Harry noticed?"

"I'm sure he didn't. I wouldn't have picked up on it myself if Dumbledore hadn't filled me in." The moment he said it, he regretted it, for the humor died out of her eyes.

"Then he _did_ tell you," Alex concluded aloud, her voice carefully neutral. "I wasn't sure."

"He shared some of the memories with Severus and me," he said slowly, watching Alex intently for her reaction, but she had slipped on what he was beginning to think of as a neutral mask that revealed nothing of her feelings, and she was no longer meeting his eyes directly. "The ones you gave him the night you arrived," he continued cautiously, "when Voldemort captured you, your escape, the other Dumbledore, and the eight mistakes. Alex, he made it very clear that you thought he had warned Harry. You were not responsible for what happened to Sirius."

Alex – who was now looking anywhere but at Remus – pushed a hand through her hair and sighed. Then she straightened her shoulders and faced him. "Remus, that's very kind of you, but of _course_ I'm responsible."

"Alex, you're _not_," Remus insisted. "You warned Dumbledore and trusted him to take care of it. I would probably have done the same in your place." Alex was looking firmly unconvinced, so Remus swallowed hard and forced himself to go on. "Even if you had said something to Sirius, I'm not sure it would have made a difference," he said painfully. "I don't believe he could have stayed away when he thought Harry needed him, and I probably knew him better than anyone alive." _I knew that, and I should have stayed myself to make sure he didn't do something stupid. I should have put him in a full body bind if that's what it took to keep him safe! I should have –_

"Remus, that's not the point," Alex said bleakly, intruding on his thoughts. "I'm willing to share responsibility with Bellatrix, but no one else. Not even Albus," she said.

Remus stared at her, bemused. "Alex, that doesn't make any _sense_! How can you think that you're responsible?"

"_Because I'm the only thing that's different_!" There was a depth of pain in her voice and eyes that tore at him. "The other Albus knew Voldemort was trying to get Harry to the Ministry, and he knew there was a risk that _someone_ would die and he _still _didn't tell Harry. If Albus here is essentially the same person in the same circumstances, how could I expect him to make different decisions? It just isn't reasonable to expect it, and I should have known that from the start. I was the one who was sent here to change things, and I can't pretend I'm not responsible."

Remus understood then, and was appalled by the weight of the burden she was carrying. _She thinks she has to do this all herself because she can't trust us to do our part. In spite of what she said about Bellatrix, she really believes that she alone is responsible for changing the outcome._

"But you seem to think no one _else_ is," he protested. "Alex, you're assuming we can't be expected to change, to learn from our mistakes and avoid repeating them. We may have lost Sirius, but we _did_ save Molly Weasley. We _can _change." Silence fell as Alex considered this, and Remus reflected on the fact that this wasn't at all what he'd imagined it would be like to see her again. While it was still very painful, it was a little easier to talk about losing Sirius than he expected – maybe because it was with Alex, although he could tell that she found it very upsetting which distressed him further in turn. He felt like he was pushing her too hard in some ways, but he sensed that no matter how much he would have preferred to avoid this, he couldn't afford to just let it go. If they couldn't work through it, this could easily become a permanent barrier between them. "I need you to believe that I don't feel you're responsible for Sirius' death. It's only natural that I might want to talk about him sometimes, and I don't want to have to hide that from you."

"I would never expect you to do that!" Alex said, looking more upset now rather than less. "That's just – _wrong_."

"I'm glad," he said simply, and felt some of the tension ease.

"Remus, you shouldn't be worried about my feelings in this at all." Alex's voice had gentled. "You're the one who lost his best friend – and I want you to know how very sorry I am for that loss."

"Thank you," Remus said quietly. "I still miss him terribly, but I'm starting to remember more of the good things when I think of him."

Alex smiled a little. "I was going to say 'Like the fact that he was an awful flirt?' but I'm not sure that would have mattered much to his friends."

Remus smiled back at her. "I think if Sirius were here, he would have objected to that," he parried mildly, "on the grounds that he was a very _good_ flirt!" Alex laughed, which pleased him. "I'm glad you got to know him a little, even if it was while he was at Grimmauld Place. He really hated that house."

"There are worse places, although I suppose it's hard to appreciate that when you really don't like the one you're in at the moment," Alex said fairly.

"Where are _you _staying at the moment?" he asked, changing the subject to one that had been preying on his mind.

"With a friend," she said non-committally, rising to her feet which forced Remus to rise as well, "which reminds me that I really have to be going. I didn't mean to stay quite so long."

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?" he pressed her, trying not to be discouraged by the fact that she evidently felt this was a long visit while it seemed to him that she'd only just arrived – or by her obvious failure to answer his question. Alex shook her head.

"I'm afraid I'm cutting it close as it is. I only meant to stop by for a moment, but I'm supposed to be meeting someone and I shouldn't run any later than I already am." Vague as it was, the explanation made him feel a little better, although perhaps she was only being polite.

_There's really only one way to find out –_

"Alex, I would very much like to see you again," Remus said evenly. "Would you like to come sledding with me on Boxing Day?"

"Sledding?" Alex repeated, sounding a bit as though he had said something in foreign language she was having difficulty understanding. Not a good sign, but Remus soldiered on.

"I haven't been sledding in a long time, but there are some nice hills around my house and I think it would be fun," he said with a casual smile, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. Then, because she was still looking a little surprised and he really couldn't help himself, he added, "Please say you'll come."

"I – thank you, I'd like that."

---------

"I said I'd go sledding on Boxing Day!"

Alex's hostess ignored the slightly panicky note in Alex's voice as she made this announcement.

"Weather should be good for it," was all she said. "A little warm lately, but not too much melt off."

"We don't even celebrate Boxing Day, so I wasn't planning to take it off. Maybe I ought to just send an owl to –"

"Well, I do," the older woman interjected, ruthlessly cutting off that escape route. "So don't expect to get any more exercises in then. For heaven's sake, Alex, it's Christmas week, and you won't be resting for much of it anyway! Besides, you've had a rough time of it lately and I don't expect this mysterious trip of yours is going to be a vacation. Won't hurt you to take some time off, especially with your plans for the new year."

"I suppose not," Alex conceded, but she still looked worried. "I ought to bring something."

"What time is it for?"

"Two o'clock. I thought about a nice bottle of brandy, which seemed a bit Christmassy, but then I realized that might look as though – I mean, with just us, and my arriving with a whole bottle of very strong alcohol –" she trailed off. Her hostess observed these unusual signs of nervousness with inward glee and outward composure. "So then I thought about something baked, but there's always so much of that around the holidays, and I really don't want it to look like the leftover fruitcake getting passed along."

"What about bread? When you get back, I'll show you the secret of my cinnamon nut swirl loaves." The secret involved brandy, which is what brought it to mind. Alex would be the first person outside the family to get the recipe, but what the hell? "If you bring freshly baked bread, it will be clear that you baked it for him rather than just passing along a holiday leftover."

"That's true. Thank you." Alex's relief gave way to suspicion. "How did you know it was a him?"

Her hostess rolled her eyes and snorted. "Alex, I may be old, but I'm not stupid."

-------------

A/N – I wanted to say thank you to my reviewers for your support – your encouragement always gives me a bit of a boost to help keep things moving along, which is really important in a story as long as this one is becoming! I don't have too much to do to get the next part ready to post, but I will probably add another part or two to _Growing Up_ next. I left poor Severus in a miserable place two weeks ago and I really ought to get him out of it right away, but I'll be back to Remus and Alex as soon as I rescue Snape!


	17. At the Grangers

Even though it was within a week of the full moon, Remus accompanied Arthur Weasley to visit the Grangers on Thursday evening. Arthur was already acquainted with the Muggle couple, and they hoped his presence would ease the very difficult discussion they needed to have with them. They had not left a great deal of time between their visit and the planned attacks – Hermione was due back on Saturday – but it was better than leaving too long an interval for her parents to brood about an attack they were powerless to fight.

The Grangers lived in a nicely maintained detached home in a newish development not far from their joint dental practice. The pathways were clear of the recent snowfall, and the light inside left a warm glow visible through the curtains that seemed cozy and welcoming.

Hermione's mother answered the door. She was a rather efficient looking woman, with neatly maintained hair and unpainted nails, but her eyes were the same warm brown as her daughter's.

"Good evening, Elizabeth," Arthur greeted her.

"Arthur – how nice to see you," she exclaimed warmly. "Do come in out of the cold," she invited, holding open the door.

"Thank you. And this is a friend of mine, Remus Lupin. You may recall Hermione mentioning him – he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in her third year. Remus, Elizabeth Granger."

After Arthur performed the introductions, Hermione's mother turned to smile in greeting. As Remus briefly grasped the hand she extended, he felt an odd tingling jolt.

"Please call me Elizabeth," she was saying, continuing smoothly when Remus, still off-balance, failed to reciprocate. "I hope you don't mind if I invite you into the kitchen rather than the drawing room?" she asked both of them generally. "John and I were just about to have some cocoa – I do hope you'll join us? – but I'm afraid I left it going on the stove."

"That's very kind of you," Arthur beamed, momentarily distracted from the purpose of their call as she led them into the kitchen.

_It was just a spark of static electricity,_ Remus told himself firmly as he followed Arthur and Elizabeth back into her kitchen. _It is winter, after all._ The conclusion was much more palatable than the idea that he was so desperate for female companionship that the simple handshake of a former pupil's happily married mother could affect him.

"Tell me, does your stove run on _eckeltricity_?" Arthur asked eagerly. Remus cleared his throat, and Arthur looked embarrassed.

"John, Arthur's stopped by for a visit with a friend of his, Remus Lupin," Elizabeth told her husband, who was reading a foreign language newspaper – the alphabet appeared to be Cyrillic – at the kitchen table. He folded it up and rose to greet them with a handshake and a smile, but he didn't speak much. Once the introductions were completed, and Elizabeth had stepped over to the stove to stir the cocoa, Arthur cleared his throat and started to speak.

"Er, I'm afraid we didn't come just for a visit," he began. "We have some rather bad news for you, I'm afraid." John frowned.

"Is Hermione all right?" Elizabeth asked with an inquiring glance toward Arthur as she finished ladling the cocoa into cups.

"Oh, fine, fine," Arthur assured her, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "No, no, Hermione is fine. Nothing to worry about _now_." Elizabeth deposited the serving tray containing the cups of cocoa and a plate of biscuits on the kitchen table and took her seat.

"But you're concerned about her future?" she prompted.

"Well, er, not to put too fine a point on it, you see …" Arthur said vaguely.

"We have received information that indicates that there may be a plan to attack you and your daughter when she returns home for the holidays," Remus said very calmly. "We don't wish to cause either of you any unnecessary worry, as we have taken steps to make sure all of you are protected, but we thought it best to let you know what was happening."

The Muggle couple exchanged glances.

"That sounds as though you expect these prospective attackers to use magic," Elizabeth observed.

"Mustn't think all wizards are like that, really," Arthur said anxiously, "just because there are some who think, well –"

"We're posting a guard nearby, who will be able to summon help at the first sign of any trouble," Remus interjected. "We'll also be adding some magical defenses to the house – with your permission, of course – just as an extra precaution."

"We're going to do everything we can to make sure all of you are safe," Arthur reassured them again. "_Please_ don't assume that all wizards are like the ones who want to, er," Elizabeth put an end to Arthur's fumbling attempts at reassurance by reaching across and patting his hand.

"Don't be silly, Arthur," she said kindly. "You and Molly have been very kind to Hermione, and we all appreciate it. Try not to fret about it. I'm sure you're doing everything that you can."

"Yes, well," Arthur gave a long sigh of relief. "We really _are_, you know, though I must say you're taking all of this a good deal better than I expected," he added frankly.

"Oh, we're _worried_, of course," Elizabeth added hastily, "it's just that we know there's not really much we can _do_." John bobbed his head emphatically in agreement. "Well, do you need anything for these magical defenses you're planning to add?"

"Not really," Remus answered. "It's fairly dark out now, so I should be able to do what I need to do without attracting too much attention from the neighbors."

"Well, Arthur, if Mr. Lupin doesn't need you, perhaps you'd like a little tour of the house while he's working?" Elizabeth suggested. "Would it be all right for John to observe, Mr. Lupin, or will that interfere at all? We wouldn't want to inconvenience you in any way, but he's always so interested in anything related to Hermione and her studies that I'm sure he would enjoy it. I'm afraid he's just getting over a touch of laryngitis and isn't talking much, but it would still be fun for him to watch."

Remus could see that Arthur was itching for a tour of the Muggle home, so with a mental shrug, he acceded to the request and headed outside with Hermione's father. While John never said anything, he watched Remus very carefully as he added the planned defenses to their home. The Muggle man smiled in silent gratitude when Remus indicated he was finished.

When they went back inside, Arthur and Elizabeth were standing in front of the open door of the hall closet under the stairs. Arthur was busily extracting information from her about the workings of the hoover, which he was examining happily. Elizabeth looked slightly amused.

"All set, Arthur," Remus told him.

"What? Oh, my, that was quick, wasn't it?" He returned the hoover to the closet reluctantly. "Well, thank you so much for the tour."

"We didn't get very far, did we?" Elizabeth said kindly. "Perhaps the next time you stop by we'll have time to visit the furnace," she suggested. Arthur's eyes lit up.

"Well, that would be very nice of you, very nice indeed," he replied eagerly, pumping her hand heartily and clasping John on the back.

"We'll also have a guard posted to watch the house until the danger has passed," Remus said, recalling Arthur's attention.

"Yes, a guard," Arthur repeated. "I must say, you've been very nice about all of this."

Remus shepherded Arthur out the door amid a chorus of good-byes and a little further down the street to the Apparition point the Order had selected to await the arrival of Dedalus Diggle, who had offered to take the first shift of guard duty.

"That went unexpectedly well," Remus mused aloud.

"Yes, indeed."

There was a short silence as each of the men drifted into their own thoughts.

"Remus?" Arthur asked at last.

"Yes?"

"Did you know that there's a _fan _inside the hoover?"

--

Friday afternoon found Hermione Granger seating in Professor McGonagall's office listening intently as the Head of Gryffindor House informed her of the planned attack.

"I realize that this will have been something of a shock to you, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, peering intently at Hermione as she spoke, "however, there are some decisions that will have to be made. If you think you're quite up to it after this news?" She seemed to be searching for signs of distress in the brightest student in the sixth year, but Hermione was regarding her calmly with no evidence of anxiety.

"What sort of decisions?" Hermione asked evenly.

"Well, to begin with, do you wish to remain at the school during the holiday? The Order will maintain a guard on your home either way, of course, but – under the circumstances – it might be of some comfort to your parents to know that you're safe at Hogwarts."

"No, thank you. I don't intend to allow this to affect my plans."

Professor McGonagall hesitated. "Miss Granger, you are one of the brightest students it has ever been my pleasure to teach," she said in a voice a bit rougher than normal, "and yet I am not sure you fully appreciate the risk involved in –"

Hermione cut her off. "Excuse me, Professor, but I think I do. I am not making this decision because I don't understand how much safer Hogwarts is, despite whatever protection the Order has been able to provide. I am going home for the holidays because that is what I had planned to do – and I don't intend to let Voldemort and his followers frighten me away." Hermione gave a little half-smile, but her eyes met her professor's clearly. "I know it isn't much in the way of defiance, but it's important to me, and I want to go."

The Head of Gryffindor House blinked her eyes – which were suspiciously bright – and cleared her throat. "Very well, Miss Granger. I assume your parents were picking you up at platform nine and three quarters?"

"No, actually I was being picked up by a hire car this time," Hermione replied. "My mother never drives in London," she explained as Professor McGonagall's brow creased in a puzzled frown, "which isn't a problem as my father usually does the driving, but he's been laid up with a bit of a cold and it wouldn't be safe for him to drive while he's taking Muggle medicine. The car will be waiting for me at Kings Cross."

"Perhaps a member of the Order should accompany you until you reach the house," the professor suggested.

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that," Hermione said with composure.

--

"Did you notice anything strange about Hermione?" Ron asked Harry as they were getting ready for bed that night. As Harry shot him an exasperated look, he added quickly, "I don't mean – I just thought she seemed quiet at dinner and I wondered if you noticed it too, that's all. I wasn't going to talk about, er, anything like _that_."

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said sheepishly, "and yeah, I suppose she was a little quiet, but I just assumed she was still thinking about exams."

"Well, she usually _talks_ about them after they're finished."

"Maybe we finally cured her of the habit."

"Maybe." There was a lengthy silence after they settled into bed for the night before Ron's voice broke the silence. "You'd think she would have talked more tonight. After breakfast tomorrow, we won't even see her again under after the holidays."

Harry rolled his eyes – not that Ron could see him in the dark. "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"_Goodnight_."

--

After Tonks had cheerfully excused herself on Saturday, leaving the Grangers alone in the house, Hermione took off her coat, hat, and gloves – leaving only her scarf on. Elizabeth walked over to untie and remove the scarf from her daughter.

"You seem to have arrived as expected," she commented lightly.

"Pretty much," Hermione agreed. "Do you know what …?" she trailed off suggestively, and Elizabeth glanced at John.

"Yes," he said. "It vos as expected."

"Good. In that case, I had better go up to my room and unpack," Hermione said.

"I vell help you," John offered, and the two women exchanged glances.

"That's really not necessary, John," Elizabeth said firmly. "I will help our daughter unpack, and we will be down later. Why don't you finish up your paper before dinner? And don't forget your tonic."

Anyone observing the Grangers would have seen what appeared to be a perfectly normal family evening. The three of them ate supper and watched a programme on the telly together before heading up to bed.

--

Before Hermione was woken by one of the defensive charms on the house, she was awakened by the flashes of green light outside. She had deliberately worn warm flannel pajamas to bed, so all she had to do was stuff her feet into the slippers she had placed for just that purpose and grab her wand off the nightstand before heading down the hall to her parents' room.

"They're here," she said, bursting unceremoniously through the door. It looked as though her father was frowning out the window while her mother slipped a robe on over her nightclothes. Both of them were holding wands.

"We know," Elizabeth said calmly. "How does it look?" she asked John.

"We haff a problem," he told them, looking rather surly. "I think that vos the guard."

--

Remus wasn't really expecting to be woken up at all – not that he had been sleeping very well.

They knew that the attack in the memories Alex carried took place in the early hours of Sunday morning, but they expected that the guard on duty would take care of the matter – not alone, but by summoning Aurors when the Death Eaters arrived – without ever allowing the attackers to breach the perimeter he had established in charming the Grangers' house. Despite the effort he had put into locating the outpost – just in case – he hadn't really expected that they would need the information. When he was woken up by the breach of the Warding Charm, he grabbed his wand and Apparated without even waiting to dress. Arthur Weasley – still wearing his pajamas of a virulent blue and orange plaid – popped in beside him a moment later.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded excitedly. "Where's Hestia?"

"You take the front, I'll head around back," Remus directed. As he made his way swiftly through the trees and approached the house, he could see that one corner of the first floor looked as though it had been blown apart. _Dammit, that shouldn't have happened!_ He was debating whether he would put them in more danger by calling out when he heard Hermione's voice.

"We're up here, Professor," she said loudly. "We're fine, we'll meet you at the front door."

"All right, I'll be there in a minute," he called back, retreating back to the tree line for a moment to make sure this wasn't a trick before circling back to the front of the house. Hermione was greeting Arthur at the door when Remus arrived.

"We're all fine, Mr. Weasley, really," she was telling him. "Hestia took care of everything."

"Your parents, Hermione, are they quite all right?" Arthur asked anxiously.

"Just fine," Hermione repeated, "although Mum was a little fussed about finding her dressing gown, so if you'll just –"

"Arthur, I wasn't expecting you to come all the way out here," Elizabeth said as she came into the front hall, "but do come in, perhaps you can be of some assistance, if you wouldn't mind? John and I don't want to do the wrong thing because we don't understand all this magic business." They were back in the kitchen again, where wet footprints tracked across the floor into the hallway. The back door was open, and three people were unconscious just outside it.

"_Hestia_!" Arthur ejaculated, hurrying over to her.

"I think she's just Stunned, Arthur," Remus told him as he deftly shot cords out of his wand to bind the other two figures that lay unconscious in the snow. The moon gave him enough light to recognize Travers and Goyle. He continued to automatically scan the area, but there were no signs of any other attackers. But something about this was bothering him, he thought, frowning at the tree line.

"Is someone from the Ministry on the way?" Hermione asked, recalling Remus' attention.

"I'll send another alert," Remus said tactfully, jetting a stream of red sparks into the hazy green skull and crossbones floating above the house, "just in case there was some confusion over Hestia's." All she was supposed to do was alert the Ministry, but they should have arrived already – unless Hestia had tried to engage the Death Eaters herself? Remus frowned. He wouldn't have thought that of her – it was a reckless and foolish disregard of her orders that could have cost the Grangers their lives – but he didn't understand why the Ministry hadn't arrived and why all three of them had been found so close to the house. He could feel someone's eyes on him and glanced back to see Elizabeth watching him. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he wasn't wearing very much – in fact, his chest was bared to the winter air – although now that he thought about it, he really felt quite warm. Elizabeth's eyes flickered away to her husband.

"John, dear, perhaps you could loan Mr. Lupin your other dressing gown, or maybe a jacket?" she suggested, and her husband nodded and immediately disappeared into the house.

"What happened?" Hestia was asking groggily as Arthur helped her to her feet.

"Oh, dear, did you hit your head when you fell?" Elizabeth asked immediately.

"Probably a Memory Charm, Mum," Hermione suggested knowledgeably just as Aurors started popping in around them.

--

Hermione had only been gone a day when Professor McGonagall delivered a note from her to Harry and Ron, dropping it on the table in front of Harry as she passed.

_Dear Harry and Ron,_

_Ron's dad says he'll see that this gets to you safely, so I can tell you that Death Eaters attacked our house this morning. We're all fine and completely unhurt – although I can't say the same thing about the walls of my parents' bedroom – but we'll be going to stay with some friends for the rest of the holiday while the house is being repaired. You won't be able to owl me very easily there, so you had probably better not try. I will be back for start of term after the holidays, and I'll tell you all about it then._

_In the meantime, please don't worry. They caught the ones who did it – Goyle and Travers – so Voldemort has two less supporters available, and taken as a whole, I think things went pretty well._

_Love from Hermione_

Ron's freckles stood out starkly against his skin.

"She says no one was hurt," Harry reminded him quickly, although he was badly shaken himself by this news. How could this happen? They had just seen Hermione _yesterday _when they waved her off to the train. If the Death Eaters had killed her – or her parents –

"She could have been – " Ron began, obviously stricken.

"But she _wasn't_," Harry repeated. "She's just fine. We'll see her again at the start of term just like we always do." Harry kept telling Ron what he needed to hear, ignoring the little voice inside that kept pointing out how close they had come to losing her.

They both knew that they were thinking about it the rest of the day, even if they didn't discuss it any further – there didn't seem to be anything to say – so when Ron, slumped in a chair in the common room after lunch, suddenly sat up and said, "_The Daily Prophet,_" in very excited tones, Harry understood immediately.

"Where are we going to get one?" Harry asked, momentarily stymied. They would normally have asked to see Hermione's copy.

"What about – no, he went home too," Ron murmured. "Why don't we ask Madam Pince? If that doesn't work, we can try and find McGonagall."

The Hogwarts librarian was indeed able to supply them with a copy of _The Daily Prophet_, and the two boys eagerly scanned the front page for news about the attack – without success.

"Maybe they didn't find out in time for it to make the paper today," Harry suggested.

"Maybe," Ron agreed absently, and turned the page.

"Hey, look," Harry said, pointing at the colorful advertisement in a prime spot on page three.

"Wow," Ron said, momentarily distracted. "I didn't know the twins were doing well enough to pay for advertising like that. _Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes – _there's a list of specials for subscriptions – new assortment every month – surprise your student with a Christmas gift they'll really love – payment transferred to vault 211 at time of delivery – visit our shop at number 93, Diagon Alley. It looks just like a real business," he concluded, sounding very surprised.

"I'm glad they're doing well. We could use some humor around here."

As long as they were there and with no other pressing business, Ron continued browsing through the rest of the newspaper with no real expectation of finding anything, only to spot a very small item at nearly the end of the newspaper.

_"Two Followers of You Know Who Captured_

_Galumpus Goyle and Adrian Travers were captured early this morning during a failed attack on a Muggle residence. A passing witch saw the attack and summoned the authorities in time for Aurors to take both wizards into custody. No injuries were reported."_

"That's _it_?" Ron looked rather irritated. "It doesn't say anything. It's barely a paragraph, and it doesn't tell us anything we didn't already know."

"Well, maybe they didn't have enough time to get any more into the paper," Harry theorized. "There'll probably be more tomorrow."

But the headline story on Monday was about the problem of recurring injuries on the Puddlemere United Quidditch team.

"I don't get it," Ron said helplessly. "Do you think the Ministry's asked them to keep quiet about it?"

Harry's lips compressed. "They ran the attack on Elenor's parents on page one for two days," he said grimly, adding as he saw Ron about to speak, "and they did the same when Anthony's aunt was attacked even though she was only Stunned." He saw comprehension dawn on Ron's freckled face. "_The Daily Prophet_ isn't going to waste space talking about attacks on _Muggles_," he finished bitterly.

--

Severus stirred the cauldron in front of him with a scowl. More Wolfsbane. He could probably brew it in his _sleep_ by now. Not that the Headmaster seemed overly impressed by his skill in handling a potion of such complexity – which might have been a compliment in a way, although Severus didn't see it as such.

Alex's information had been perfectly correct about the attack on the Grangers. Again.

More precise than his own intelligence had been. Again.

It wasn't that he didn't pick up on things. Even though it was supposed to have been kept quiet – not out of any particular concern, but merely because the Dark Lord habitually segregated operational intelligence, and such a minor operation had required no other resources than Goyle and Travers – Severus had still picked up enough that he would have know that _something_ was in the works against Miss Granger. He would not, however, have known that the attack was planned to take place at her parents' home, or the exact timing.

Alex had.

Severus wondered bitterly why he bothered keeping up appearances. It was pathetically obvious that he had outlived his usefulness – well, it was obvious to the three of them in the Order who knew the truth.

He couldn't even take a shift of guard duty because of the possible risk to his cover – but what were they protecting it for if they already had the information they needed?

Thanks to Alex.

Not him.

Even worse, he had failed abysmally at the only other task the Headmaster had given him – Alex had disappeared without a trace. He had hoped that she might have made contact with him by now, but as the weeks passed since he had deposited the funds from the ring he sold to Lucius into the _infuriatingly _anonymous vault 211 without a word from her, he was beginning to doubt he would ever succeed in tracking her down.

He was being defeated.

By a Muggle.

Severus ground his teeth as he continued to stir.

--

A/N – Thank you for the reviews – they are definitely what keeps me going! And yes, you will get to see Alex and Remus go sledding in the next part, which should be up by the weekend. I'm rather fond of them too, which is occasionally a problem as I keep getting distracted by fluff-to-come instead of buckling down and getting all the necessary plot points taken care of so that there's some filling between the bits of fluff!

I put in just a touch of Severus here so you wouldn't think I had forgotten him, but his next major appearance is at the time of the fourth incident, when he will run into Alex again …

Thank you again for your support.


	18. Boxing Day

Remus spent Christmas Day very quietly at home, recovering from the full moon on Christmas Eve.

He had declined a kind-hearted invitation from Arthur and Molly to Christmas dinner, promising to call on New Year's Day instead. He was touched to receive a heavy basket from the Weasleys just after noon carried in by an unknown owl. It contained generous helpings of Molly's wonderful cooking – evidently they had decided to send Christmas dinner to him – but he also appreciated the sacrifices they'd made to do it. Their family owl would not have been up to the quick delivery of a heavy item, so they must have paid premium holiday delivery rates to get the basket to him while the food was fresh. Remus was all too aware that even little extravagances could strain a tight budget, and he was moved that Arthur and Molly had cared enough to do this for him.

Remus managed a few of what his father would have called "puttery things" in the afternoon – penning replies to various holiday greetings, transferring photographs to the multi-picture display frame Harry had sent him for Christmas, that sort of thing – but he was very careful not to overexert himself. He had known it would be more prudent to ask Alex over some time on the weekend, when he'd had more time to recover, but he hadn't wanted to wait. He had carefully inspected the sled and polished the runners before the moon came so he wouldn't have to push himself to be ready.

Boxing Day, before Alex actually arrived, was more difficult. Once he was dressed and ready, it was very hard to settle himself down. He tried reading a bit, but his eyes kept straying to the clock. Fortunately, when two o'clock rolled around, Alex arrived very promptly. It was only two minutes after the hour when the doorbell rang. Remus closed his book without bothering to mark the page – he wasn't sure what he'd been reading anyway – and went to answer the door.

"Hello, Alex. I'm glad you were able to make it." She was carrying something, which meant that Remus couldn't really hug her in greeting, although he would have liked to. "May I help you with that?"

"Please." Alex handed over a light, warm package as she stepped in. "These are for you. Thank you for inviting me." His moon-enhanced senses easily picked up the fragrance through the wrap.

"Fresh bread? How thoughtful! Did you make it yourself?"

"Under supervision. The cinnamon nut one is a special recipe I'd never made before, but it seems to have turned out fairly well."

"They smell wonderful. If you don't mind coming through to the kitchen, I'll put these away and get my coat."

It was a perfect day for sledding. The air was crisp and cold, but fairly still, and the snow crunched pleasantly underfoot as they pulled the sled to the coasting hill Remus had picked. Alex was dressed casually, but warmly, and mostly in neutrals with one exception – her hat, scarf, and mittens, which were obviously hand knit, were a brilliant deep pink that Remus found delightfully whimsical.

"Oh, wow," Alex murmured as they reached the top of the hill. There were several nice runs depending on which direction you chose, although a couple of the faster ones were a little bumpy.

"It's great, isn't it?" Remus agreed. "I haven't been up here in a while, but I used to come a lot when I was younger. Which should be try first?"

"Definitely one of the easier ones. I haven't been on a sled in years, and I don't want to tumble off my first time."

"How about this one?" It was a nice smooth run, but long enough to let you build up some speed.

"Perfect."

Remus positioned the sled at a good take-off point. It needed to be easy enough to keep the sled steady while getting on without making it difficult to get it moving once you were ready to go. There was a bit of an art to it, but Remus thought he had retained enough from his childhood skill to be pretty confident in his placement.

"Take the front? I can handle the steering from the back," Remus suggested. Alex positioned herself on the seat with her feet on the steering bar, and Remus took his place behind her, careful not to allow the sled to start down the hill just yet. "Ready?" he asked as he gathered up the tow rope, which was also used to steer. Alex nodded, so he positioned his own legs on the steering bar next to hers and pushed off.

They moved slowly at first, gradually gathering speed until they were flying down the hill at a good clip, the air rushing past them as they sped along. Remus steered them into a nice long coast at the bottom before they ran out of momentum and stopped.

"That was _fun_!" Alex's cheeks were pink, and there was a sparkle in her blue-green eyes that delighted him. "Can we try a faster one now?" she asked eagerly, and Remus grinned.

"How about that one next?" he proposed, pointing.

Alex claimed her half of the tow rope and returned Remus' grin. "You're on!"

As the afternoon wore on, Remus and Alex jointly concluded that two of the runs appeared to be unpleasantly bumpy, but they tried all the others at least once and got in more than half a dozen good runs on the one they ultimately decided was their favorite. It required some adroit steering to manage well – both of them actively pushing the steering bar with their feet rather than relying on the rope – but it had a rewarding combination of curves and speed when taken properly.

"I'm beat," Alex admitted at the end of a run. The winter sky was darkening. "I seem to remember having more stamina when I was younger!"

"I think we've both lasted fairly well," Remus said with good humor. The downhill part was easy enough, but repeatedly pulling the sled back up the hill through the snow was frankly tiring. He had done surprisingly well for the second day after the moon, but he had to admit he was pretty worn out. "How would you feel about my cheating a little to get home?" he ventured. "With a small charm on the sled, we could have it pull us for a change."

"That makes sense." She looked at him, considering. He hadn't used or referred to magic all afternoon. "Do you normally use a charm to bring it back to the top while you're sledding?"

"Well, no, but there's no reason you couldn't. I'm just a bit of a purist about my sledding," he explained as they took their now-accustomed places on the sled. "Just habit." He slipped an arm holding the tow rope around Alex and pointed his wand at the back of the sled. It glided forward easily under the influence of the familiar spell.

The ride home was very different from the walk out. The walk out had been marked by pleasant, companionable chatter. The sledding had been full of easy laughter. The ride home was all contented silence, Alex relaxing against him in the stillness of the deepening twilight. Remus was rather sorry when his house came into view, the sled pulling up neatly in front of the kitchen door, which the family used, rather than the front entrance.

"The food is for tea, but I made cocoa instead," Remus said, extending a hand to help Alex off the sled before it returned itself to the storage shed in the rear garden.

"That sounds lovely." They had stepped into the kitchen and Alex was stripping off her winter coat. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Would you mind getting the fire started while I heat up the cocoa?"

"Sure." When Remus realized he hadn't told her where the conventional matches were located – Remus still kept them in a decorative tin his mother had been fond of – he turned around to do so and found that Alex had deftly started the fire with an Ignition Charm.

"You seem to be getting a bit more comfortable with magic," Remus observed.

"A little," Alex agreed, stepping forward automatically to hand Remus the ladle he was reaching for. "It's getting easier now that there are things I've learned myself."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Well, Albus gave me this knowledge without my doing anything. Like Apparating," Alex accepted a cup of cocoa and followed Remus to a seat at the table. "I just knew I could do it, but I didn't understand it. If I wanted to go someplace and needed to, it would just happen."

Remus frowned, a trickle of fear starting down his spine. "That isn't the way it's supposed to work." _What if something went wrong?_

"Oh, I know that now," Alex assured him quickly. "My teacher explained it all very differently, but I think Albus just understands magic on a different level than most wizards. I don't know how much of that is part of who he is – how he thinks – rather than just the result of having had a very long time for his understanding to evolve, but it's difficult either way. It's like reading the conclusion and being expected to accept it when you never saw any of the supporting argument or analysis – it's a big leap and it doesn't always make sense."

"So you're going back to fill in," Remus concluded, "and it's helping?"

"Some."

Remus set his fork down. "Alex, would you consider telling me who has been helping you?" he asked quietly. "I'm not trying to interfere with your training," he added quickly as she frowned and set her cup down, "and I'll give you my word that I won't say anything about it to anyone, but I would feel a lot better if I knew you were learning from someone competent and reliable."

Alex was still looking skeptical, her lips slightly compressed.

"If you've done Memory Charms, you can Obliviate me afterwards to be sure," he offered. "I could just write myself a note not to worry."

Now there was an expression in her eyes that Remus couldn't interpret. "You'd trust me to Obliviate you?" she asked very slowly.

_Sometimes you have to risk yourself,_ Remus reminded himself.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"I – then I won't," Alex replied illogically, in a rushed and choky voice, "and it's Madame Marchbanks. I've been staying with her since I left Grimmauld Place."

Remus felt a wave of relief wash through him as Alex named the very elderly but highly competent – and quite female – examiner. "Thank god!" he ejaculated.

"You were really worried," she observed with an air of discovery.

"Yes."

"Oh." Alex blinked rather rapidly for a moment before giving a slight, brisk shake of her head. "Well, I told you that you didn't need to be."

"You were right and I was wrong," he said levelly, "but I'm still glad you told me. Thank you."

Alex smiled at him in response and picked up her cocoa again. When their eyes met over it as she took another sip, Remus felt that odd jolt again.

"So," he began in a teasing voice, "read any good non-textbooks lately?"

A comfortable discussion of books carried them through the rest of the meal, made much easier by Remus' awareness of Alex's Muggle background. His father had been a Muggle college professor, and he had left an extensive library. Remus had read much of it at one time or another. Now that Alex could speak freely, it turned out that her preferences were for mystery novels and works of science fiction. While Remus wasn't up to date on the more recent works in these genres, and Alex was not always sure whether or not a particular book had been published yet, they still found much in common to discuss.

Remus was reshelving a novel he had wanted to show Alex when she spotted the chess set.

"What a handsome set!" she exclaimed, stepping over to examine it more closely.

"Thank you, miss," the courtly White King said with a stately bow, causing Alex to start. "Very kind of you to say so."

"You haven't played wizard chess?" Remus guessed.

"No, only regular chess." Alex was studying the pieces with pleasure. The White King continued smiling affably up at her until the White Queen gave him a look which prompted him to glance apologetically at his ivory consort. The White Queen sniffed.

"Care for a game?" Remus suggested.

Alex beat him the first time, much to the delight of the White King ("Well played!") for Remus had courteously offered to let Alex play white for the first game. He managed to eke out a victory on their second game, when they switched sides so that he made the first move, but it was very close. Alex was obviously an accomplished player, a discovery that pleased him greatly. He rarely got to play with anyone at his own level.

"Shall we try a third?" He thought for a moment she was about to agree, but then she caught sight of the clock.

"I really ought to be going. I had no idea it was so late."

Remus rose reluctantly and went to help Alex with her coat. As he slipped it over her shoulders, his hands tightened for a moment. "Alex, I –" he started, but she turned her head to look at him in response to his voice, and he lost his train of thought. Her blue-green eyes met his, only inches separating them, and then, very slowly, he lowered his head to brush her lips tentatively with his own. Hers were soft and warm and unbearably tempting.

When she didn't pull away, he allowed himself to taste them just once more, but properly this time. It was still slow and gentle, but it was a real kiss rather than a mere brush of the lips.

It also left him aching for more.

He forced himself to release her, thrusting his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep from grabbing hold of her. "May I see you again?" His voice was a little husky, and he paused to clear his throat. "If you're free for lunch on Saturday, we could have another game afterwards?"

"Yes."

"Twelve?"

Alex nodded, and disappeared into the night.

&&&&&

Madame Marchbanks was still awake when Alex came in.

"Have fun sledding?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm."

"You're back late," she observed.

Alex finished hanging up her coat in the closet by the door and made her way into the tiny parlor.

"We played chess after tea." _Some chess game if it's making you blush,_ the older woman thought. "I told him – Remus – that I'd been staying here." Alex looked a little guilty as she said this. "I hope you don't mind. I probably should have asked –"

"Nonsense. The secrecy was to protect you, why should I mind? All I'm doing is teaching you. Don't know anything that would help Voldemort anyway."

_Remus.__ Unusual name – let me think – Lupin!_

"He's invited me over for another game on Saturday," Alex was saying.

"Oh?" _Fast worker._

Alex was trying to look composed, but Madame Marchbanks was a very experienced witch

"I think I'll go up to bed now. See you tomorrow."

"Sleep well."

The older woman was rather better than Alex at concealing her feelings. She waited until Alex was safely upstairs to cast a Silencing Charm that allowed her to let loose with a whoop of victory unheard by anyone but herself.

&&&&&&

On the Sunday before classes resumed, the usual rush of returning students surged into the Gryffindor common room and carried Hermione along with it.

"Harry! Ron! It's so good to see you," she said as she caught sight of them and hurried over.

"It's good to see you too," Harry told her, overwhelmingly relieved and greeting her with a hug. Despite her letter – which had obviously been intended to reassure them – a pall had hung over him and Ron over the holidays.

"I've got so much to tell you," she said, glancing swiftly around the crowded common room. "Why don't I take my trunk up and then meet you in your room?"

"Right," Harry agreed, watching Hermione hurry off again. He turned to look at Ron, who had been frozen in silence since she had returned. "Ron? We should wait for Hermione in the dormitory."

Hermione arrived very quickly, looking around the room – which was empty except for the three of them – with approval. "Good. Everyone should be downstairs for a while."

"Hermione, what _happened_?" Ron asked, the first words he had spoken to her since her return.

"Well, what actually happened and what the Order _thinks_ happened are not exactly the same thing," Hermione said carefully, looking anxiously from Ron to Harry and back again. "So if I tell you, I want you to promise me you won't tell anyone else."

"I promise," Harry said immediately.

"For heaven's sake, just tell us what happened to you," Ron demanded impatiently.

Hermione looked a little nervous. "Ron, I know a lot of your family are part of –"

"I _promise,_" he interrupted quickly, "not a word to _anyone_. Just tell us."

"Well, the Order knew the attack was planned for a while before they told me," Hermione sounded a little irritable about this, "but someone else did, so I knew they planned to attack our house when I went home."

"And you still _went_?" Ron demanded.

"Of course I went. I'm not going to let them chase me out of my house," Hermione retorted. "Besides, it was a chance to catch some of them, and we did! Hestia Jones was on guard duty and she was supposed to summon Aurors when the Death Eaters showed up, but they Stunned her before she could, so Viktor had to –"

"Viktor Krum?" Harry blurted out, surprised.

"That's the part the Order doesn't know about. I didn't want anything to happen to my parents, and we wanted to catch them so – polyjuice potion! Viktor and Alex pretended to be my parents while my real parents went to stay with Viktor's family, which is where I went too after they caught Goyle and Travers."

"That's why you borrowed the Cloak," Harry realized, and Hermione nodded.

"I had to sneak into the greenhouse to pick the fluxweed at the right time," she explained. "Although brewing it was a bit easier this time than it was in second year. But anyway, when Hestia went down, Viktor managed to Stun Goyle, but then Travers started shooting hexes back at us. You should have seen my parents' room – most of two walls were gone – but we caught both of them, and none of us were hurt at all!" Hermione was looking as though she were trying not to appear _too_ pleased with herself. "The Order and the Ministry think Hestia did it and doesn't remember because of a Memory Charm – which we really used on Goyle and Travers. There was a little bit of difficulty when your dad and Professor Lupin came too quickly, and we realized it would have been obvious from where the three of them – Hestia, Goyle, and Travers – had fallen that Hestia didn't do it, but I kept them at the front door while Viktor and Alex moved the bodies and no one suspected a thing!"

"And _that's _why you've been writing to Viktor," Ron said, staring at Hermione intently just as the door opened and the other sixth year boys started joining them in the dormitory.

"Well, of course," Hermione said, looking rather confused. "I needed a wizard who was of age," Hermione eyed Seamus and Dean cautiously, "and available to take care of it." Seamus was opening up his trunk while chatting with Dean, and Harry realized with some frustration that they were both now within hearing distance, leaving Harry unable to voice any of the questions bubbling in his brain.

"Hermione," Ron said loudly, and in such an odd tone of voice that Seamus stopped speaking, and he and Dean glanced over at the trio, "will you come with me next Hogsmeade weekend?"

Hermione's brow crinkled. "Ron, I _always _go to Hogsmeade with you and Harry," she reminded him.

"I'm not inviting Harry," Ron said clearly, despite the fact that the tips of his ears were very red, "I am asking you if you will go to Hogsmeade with me. _Without_ Harry." Hermione's mouth fell open slightly, and when she closed it again, her face seemed to be very pink. She looked over at Harry – who was trying hard not to grin – a little anxiously, and he nodded encouragingly at her.

"All right then," she said, and her voice sounded a little fainter than usual. Then she stood up, looked around the room – Seamus and Dean were still standing by Seamus' trunk watching the three of them – and said, "Well, I guess I'll be going now. I'll see you at breakfast," and left. No one in the boys' dormitory said a word as her footsteps faded away.

Harry allowed the grin that he had been repressing to appear on his face, and clapped his best friend – who looked a little stunned himself – on the back. "It's about time," he told Ron, and Ron started grinning as well.

&&&&&&

_Later in 1997_

Once she was safely up the back stairs, Alex pulled the hood of her cloak down with relief, then stripped her gloves off and stuffed them in a pocket. Pausing just outside the door to the twins' private living quarters on the first floor above _Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes_ shop in Diagon Alley, Alex turned and knocked twice on the adjacent wall. After waiting a moment, she knocked twice again and the wall vanished.

"Oi!" George called cheerfully, looking up from the parchment he was studying. "Fred's still downstairs meeting with the Quiggins rep, but we can get started and I'll catch him up later." He grinned at her. "Old Wiggy's a little long-winded, but we like to humor him. He buys more when he's cheerful."

Alex hung her cloak on a peg as the wall reformed behind her before striding over to take a seat at the table across from George. "I don't mind waiting if you should be down there with him. Keeping a very low profile is more than worth waiting a little.

"No worries," George assured her. "Fred and I often take meetings separately. Business is too good to do otherwise." He pushed a sheet of parchment over toward her. "Now, I think we've come up with some very interesting products for what you have in mind –"

The were almost through the product list when Fred joined them, and they finished up shortly afterwards.

"Do you have enough money to finance production?" Alex asked.

Fred gave a sort of half-snort. "We can finance a lot more than we'll need for this lot with that kind of gold, even without the additions from your paycheck."

"Really?" Alex leaned back in her chair.

"Any chance you're willing to share with us just how you got that kind of gold out of the infamous Professor Snape?" George asked with a deceptively casual air.

"If you've got something on the most disliked professor in the history of Hogwarts –" Fred continued eagerly.

"Nothing like that," Alex said with finality, and their faces fell. "I've got another idea, but this one's a little riskier." The twins exchanged a lightning glance and turned back to her in unison, wearing identical expressions of interest. "Looking at the features of the new products made me wonder whether something similar was possible in a line targeted to adults rather than students?"

"Products targeted to people with a more mature sense of humor?" Fred queried, puzzled.

"I don't know that they have to be joke products as long as we can get adults – the right adults – to buy them," Alex explained. "I can see advantages to getting items with some of the latent features you've developed into certain homes."

"We're listening," George prompted when Alex hesitated.

"To be honest, I'm a little concerned about the ethical aspects of this idea," Alex admitted, "but I'm also trying to balance those qualms against the fact that we're fighting a war. If we do decide to go ahead with this, I think everything should be done through another company with no traceable connection to your joke shop."

George turned to look at his twin. "What about?"

"Not if we –" Fred replied, apparently understanding his twin without the need for coherent sentences.

"Risky," George cautioned.

"Advantage!" Fred grinned.

"Stretched."

"Lee?"

George grinned too, then they both turned back to Alex. "We're in," George announced. "We'll have to bring in some more help to manage, but we've got someone trustworthy in mind."

"Making sure Hogwarts is thoroughly saturated by the first quarter of 1998 is still my top priority," Alex told them.

"We'll make it," Fred promised. "The advertisements we put in around the holidays have been paying off. We're developing a solid and growing list of regular subscribers who will each get an assortment of our products at regular intervals. All we have to do is include the products we want in the assortments at the right time. We'll do another round of advertisements at the beginning of the next school year, but word of mouth is building the business all by itself."

"This is turning out to be a nice boost to our enterprise," George added.

Alex threw him a speaking look.

"I know, I know, and I agree with you," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you might like to know that it's turning out to be profitable, so we've decided to treat your funding as an investment. If everything goes as we expect, you should be getting a nice little return on it. Of course, so will we," he pointed out, grinning again. "After all, it is our hard work that made this possible."

"I don't care if you keep every penny as long as this works," she told them bluntly.

"That's hardly the right attitude to take," Fred objected. "See, you're supposed to argue that this wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't provided the funding, so therefore you should get most of the profits – or all of them, since we're already being rewarded with an increase in our existing business because of the subscription package. Then we get to point out that none of this would have been possible without our hard work and ingenuity –"

"Genius," his twin corrected modestly.

"And then we end up agreeing to share and share alike," Fred concluded patiently. "One share of the profits per person." There was a small smile twitching on Alex's lips. "That's how it works."

"Why don't we just pretend we did that and move on?" Alex suggested dryly. The twins exchanged resigned looks.

"All right, Fred and I will split it with you fifty-fifty," George told her, "but I want you to know that you're spoiling our fun. And you really ought to learn how to negotiate a little."

Alex pulled her cloak off the peg and began to put it on. "I'll have you know that I used to be a professional negotiator," she informed them with a hint of amusement in her eyes. The twins were regarding her skeptically. "And I'm well aware that it's important to ensure that any agreement you reach meets your objectives," she told them blandly, drawing on her gloves, "however you happen to get there. Although it helps to have a thorough knowledge of all the parties to a transaction. Let me assure you that the fifty-fifty split you proposed is just fine with me. Have a good night, gentlemen." Alex closed the door neatly behind her as she left.

Fred and George looked at each other for a long moment.

"That hurt," Fred said at last.

"Yeah," George admitted. "But it could have been worse. At least she's on our side."

&&&&&&

A/N – Just a little bit of fluff this time, although there will be more from time to time in the future. Reviews are always appreciated - along with any information about what's going on with certain characters (asterisk, dash, etc.) not being uploaded to this site. I've had the worst time lately getting it to accept any punctuation used to indicate a change in scene - my apologies for the ampersands, but I was getting desperate.


	19. Family and War

As soon as Ron had asked Hermione out after the holidays, Seamus and Dean had promptly assured Harry he was welcome to go to Hogsmeade with them (and Ginny, who was still dating Dean), and Harry had ended up doing just that. He thought about inviting someone to go with him, but couldn't think of anyone he really wanted to spend that much time with.

As classes started up again, Harry realized that a part of his brain was looking at the girls around him and wondering what it would be like to date them, but the answers he came up with were not encouraging. Cho had been very pretty (when she wasn't crying) but for some reason he just didn't get the same strange feeling when he looked at her – sort of nervous and thrilled at the same time – that he had before. And she was going to graduate this year – Harry sort of thought it might be nice to have someone around for his last year at Hogwarts. Assuming he lived that long, of course.

After the ball during their fourth year, Harry had decided he really didn't want to date Parvati, which pretty much ruled out Lavender as well. The two of them spent so much time together that Lavender might have been taken for Parvati's twin – albeit a blond one – rather than Padma, who really was her twin sister. Anyway, they gossiped too much, and gossip about him was not something Harry thought was really lacking.

Hannah was still dating Neville and both of them seemed quite happy with each other – Harry had the disturbing thought that they were starting to look a little alike – although her round features and blond hair were really not to Harry's taste. She didn't actually look anything at all like Dudley – or Draco – or Aunt Petunia – but for whatever reason, Harry didn't seem to be one of the gentlemen who preferred blonds.

There were some girls in his year that he really didn't know much about – like Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin – and at one point he thought about trying to find out a little more about Mandy to see if she might be someone he'd enjoy spending time with, but he never seemed to get around to it until it was too late to do anything anyway. So Harry sort of shrugged mentally and went with Seamus, Dean, and Ginny, figuring he would at least be more comfortable with people he knew a little better.

He had a nicer time than he expected, although it was strange to be wandering around Hogsmeade without his two best friends. He caught a glimpse of them once in the distance and waved, but he didn't go over to speak to them. He had a feeling Ron was nervous enough.

While the foursome visiting Hogsmeade together went to some places familiar to Harry – _everyone_ stopped at The Three Broomsticks at one point or another – they also went into some stores that Harry had always passed by without a second thought. The most interesting one was a small shop which was a combination of art supply store and art gallery. They were the only students in the store, but the proprietor – a very large wizard wearing a long apron liberally splattered with all sorts of substances that sputtered and spat, or lit up, or changed colors, or emitted sparks or smoke – obviously knew and liked Dean. His answer to whatever question Dean had asked him was lengthy and involved and seemed to require a lot of gesturing. Ginny and Seamus were obviously used to this, and wandered around looking at the displays until they were finished.

"Thanks, guys," Dean said as they emerged back into the crowded street.

"No problem, mate," Seamus assured him easily. "Anyone else have any other errands?"

"I need to pick up some parchment and spare quills, but that's it for me," Ginny said.

Harry shook his head in response to Seamus' question, telling Ginny absently, "If you're out, Hermione probably has some you can borrow."

Ginny grinned at him.

"Who do you think I'm buying them for?" she retorted cheekily. "She didn't want to have to worry about it on her date, but everyone _always _borrows from her. She needs to restock her supply!"

--&--&--&--&--

Remus was pleased to see Bill again, but they didn't have time to do much more than exchange greetings before the meeting began. With one thing and another – Bill's trip to France over the holidays, scheduling conflicts, a full moon on one meeting night – it had been quite a while since they had seen each other.

Evidently Bill was thinking the same thing, for when the meeting broke up, he turned to Remus and commented, "I don't think I've seen you since last year."

"I think you're right."

"Happy new year?" Bill essayed drolly, and Remus laughed.

"Did you enjoy your holiday?" They rose and began to make their way to the door.

"Quite a bit." As they reached the doorway, Bill paused and glanced over at the older man. "Fleur's father gave me a bottle of what appears to be a very fine brandy. If you've got some time, I'll crack it open and tell you all about it," he suggested.

"Thank you, I'd like that," Remus replied, pleasantly surprised by the invitation.

Bill's flat, located in a Muggle building, was both smaller and tidier than Remus had expected, but the decor was not without flare. The living room furniture had a decidedly modern bent to it – leather and glass and brushed metal – but it escaped the sterility of the worst of that style with the use of warm color. An abstract painting over the sofa set the tone – a brilliant shaft of vibrant yellow against a swirl of red and orange – and the furniture, when Remus took a seat, proved to be unexpectedly comfortable.

Bill noted Remus' gaze as he poured the brandy and seated himself. "I wasn't here that much when I was on assignment, but I wanted some place I'd enjoy coming back to," he explained, propping his long legs up on a convenient footstool. "Charlie used to use it sometimes while I was away."

"When he was spending some time in town and didn't want to disturb your mother?" Remus suggested knowingly.

"Something like that," Bill grinned. "Fleur's not crazy about it – these really aren't her colors – but I like it the way it is."

"Things really _did_ go well then," Remus observed, relaxing into the leather and savoring the smooth taste of the fine spirits.

Bill nodded, swirling the brandy around in his glass reflectively. "Her parents like me well enough. Her mother was reassured to discover that I'm refreshingly fashionable for a Brit – I think she was expecting someone who dressed as they did in Queen Victoria's time – and her father will go along with anything that makes the women happy."

"Did you like them as well?"

"Ye – es..."

Remus quirked an eyebrow in inquiry, but Bill was staring into his glass. "You don't sound quite certain."

Bill looked up then and asked Remus a question that surprised him a little. "Do you think we tend to replicate our parents' relationship in our own?"

Remus thought for a moment before answering. "I think we first learn about relationships by observation, and our parents are usually our primary examples," he said carefully, "but they're not the _only_ examples we have, and we're free to do things differently." There was a short silence – a comfortable one – before Remus broke it. "It sounds like you care for Fleur a good deal."

"Yes," Bill agreed without hesitation. "But – she's very young. She hasn't even been out of school two years yet, and I'm not sure she's as ready to settle down as she may think she is at the moment." There was an affectionate light in his eyes as he spoke about her. "You know, she isn't actually that interested in her appearance or in keeping up with the current fashions – but she seemed to think that that's what women _do_, which puzzled me a bit because she's got a lot more depth to her character than that. She's a highly intelligent and talented witch, and she's kinder than most people realize – not counting when she's playing 'Lady Bountiful' which she also seems to think is expected – and I couldn't quite understand why she would appear to be preoccupied with the superficial at times."

"Her mother?"

"I think so," Bill agreed, sighing a little. "And her father as well," he added fairly. "Her mother is very charming – an excellent hostess – and quite beautiful. Every time I saw her she was exquisitely dressed – usually in a different outfit. She fluttered around making sure I was attended to and enjoying myself the entire visit, just as if she had nothing else to do. Fleur's father smiled benevolently from a distance, but he didn't seem to be really _there_. Every so often, he would look up from his paper as if he were making sure everything was as it should be – but if everyone was properly dressed and smiling, he was satisfied. And I'm not sure he even _knows_ Fleur that well – other than to recognize, I mean. I know Dad can be a little absent-minded at times, but he certainly knows Ginny much better than _that_. And I'm quite sure that if she brought someone home, he'd be a lot more interested in finding out more about him, what kind of a person he was."

"And you don't want that kind of relationship," Remus summarized.

"No, I don't," Bill said resolutely. "I wouldn't even have been _dating_ Fleur if all she had to offer was her appearance. Why would anyone want to spend that much time with someone who has nothing to say?"

"Does Fleur realize that?" Remus asked perceptively.

"I'm not sure my opinion matters as much as her own – at least it _shouldn't_."

"No," Remus agreed.

"Her work visa is only good for two years," Bill said abruptly, causing Remus to look at him very sharply.

"France isn't exactly inaccessible, and there's no point in hurrying to make a bad decision."

"No," Bill said rather slowly. "It would be a little like those rushed war marriages – after everything was over, I always wondered how those worked out. When the excitement had passed and you found yourself married to someone you didn't know very well, and you had to get to know them _after_ the marriage instead of before. Then there's Voldemort and the Order – I'm not sure it's fair to start a family when there's a very real possibility you'll be killed and leave them to fend for themselves without you. On the other hand, I don't suppose we can all stop living entirely until this is over – and frankly, I don't like giving Voldemort that much power."

Remus thought back to the first incarnation of the Order as Bill took another swallow. "If your mother had done that when her brothers were killed, your family would be very different," he pointed out, and Bill smiled.

"True. And I really wouldn't want to give up any of my siblings," he admitted wryly, "even Percy!"

-&--&--&--&---

The conversation came back to him the following Saturday, as Remus watched Alex study the chess board in utter absorption. "What were your parents like?" he asked her, rather regretting the sudden impulse as she froze.

"My _parents_?"

"I'll understand if you don't want to talk about them," Remus said immediately, remembering too late that Alex had effectively lost her family – and everyone else in her life – when she had been thrust into this universe from her own less than a year ago.

"That's all right, I just –" Alex ran a distracted hand through her hair, still looking a little shaken. "I suppose I've tried not to think about them too much," she admitted at last. "There's really nothing I can _do_ –" She broke off and started again. "They were getting close to retirement, and we were starting to talk about that when I – left. Assuring them that we didn't mind if they sold the house, got someplace smaller, that sort of thing. My father was in business – actually, we worked for the same company in different locations – but he was in management. My mother stayed home to take care of us when we were little, but she went back to work when I was in high school. She was the office manager for a local medical practice."

"You had brothers or sisters?" Remus prompted carefully, observing that Alex seemed to be recovering her composure as she spoke.

"I was the oldest of four. Ryan is next – he had a small company that provided computer service and repair – and then Jason – he's the other lawyer in the family, he just got married to Sophia – she's Italian. Then there's Trixie – her real name is Patricia but nobody calls her that – who's an artist."

"The _other_ lawyer?"

A trace of sadness flickered across Alex's face. "Well, I was a lawyer, well, _before_, but I doubt I'll ever be able to practice again." She managed a small smile. "I think _two_ of me on the rolls would attract a little too much comment, and it's not as if I can go back there anyway – at least not for the foreseeable future."

"I'm sorry," Remus told her, reaching across the board to clasp her hand. She acknowledged the gesture with a brief squeeze in response before withdrawing, and Remus wondered whether it would be kinder to drop the subject, although he was encouraged by her willingness to talk with him about something that obviously upset her.

"What prompted the question?" Alex asked curiously.

"A conversation I had with Bill," Remus admitted. "We were talking about how parents influence their children in relationships."

Alex tilted her head slightly as she considered this, and Remus noted that her earlier distress seemed to have passed – or she had been able to deliberately set it aside for the moment.

"Bad examples can do an awful lot of damage," she said quietly. "I don't think I realized until I went to college just how lucky I was. It wasn't just that my parents were still married to each other, but they were actually happy and enjoyed each other's company."

"So did mine," Remus confessed.

Alex met his eyes and smiled. "It's funny how something that is supposed to be the standard can actually make you feel like you're part of a very small minority! Whose turn was it?" she asked, changing the subject and returned her attention to the board.

Remus' eyes continued to study her, even as he responded automatically, "Yours."

He brought it up again later that night, as they were chatting in a desultory way in front of the fireplace in the study. He had his arm around her lightly – she had shifted a bit in her seat when he had put it there, much to his dismay until he realized that she had only settled herself a little more against him – and she was fairly relaxed, so it seemed like a good time to apologize.

"I'm sorry if I upset you earlier when I asked about your family," he said quietly.

"You didn't," she said automatically, but he looked at her. "Well, okay, maybe a little at first," she corrected fairly, "but I'm not sorry you brought it up. It's just, well, I've been focusing on Voldemort and what needed to be done to stop him, and I've been avoiding even _thinking_ about my family too much because I couldn't – I don't want to get too distracted by personal matters to be able to do what I need to do. What he did – does – is bigger than just me or my family."

"And you're afraid that the pain of losing them will be too much for you?" Remus asked gently.

"That's a lot of it," Alex agreed, and he could see in her eyes that not only her own family, but Sirius – Remus' family, in a way – was in her thoughts as well. "I suppose it's cowardly of me to avoid it, but it's easier to pretend that I'm just – _away_ for a while. That they're all fine – which they were when I left – and that nothing's really changed except that I'm temporarily somewhere else. Pretend that when all this is over I could go back somehow and see them again, even though I know I can't." Not wanting to insult her with false words of comfort, Remus had to settle for conveying his support with a gentle caress of her arm as she spoke. "But the part that's really unnerving is knowing that my alternate is back in the states, and I shouldn't interfere with anything in her life."

"Such as?"

Alex sighed. "Well, my grandmother died next year, so she'll probably die then here. And I have to keep reminding myself that my grandmother _already_ died, and that it isn't really _her_ here, and that it's not the sort of thing I should try and change. It was her time when it happened – she'd been very ill for a while – and all her family was there with her. It would have been cruel to try to keep her here just because we didn't want to give her up, but – well, there's a part of me that's afraid that I might do the wrong thing if I think about it too much. Albus was so insistent about the risks of changing things, unintentional consequences – and just because _I_ can't see how it could possibly hurt us in the fight against Voldemort doesn't mean he isn't right."

"He didn't listen to you about Sirius because he thought he knew better, and you don't want to do that yourself," Remus said perceptively.

"Exactly," Alex said immediately. "And if Voldemort won because I was trying to improve my personal situation – or rather my alternate's – " He felt the tremor that ran through her, and tightened his hold.

"I know, and I think you're doing the right thing, even though I don't see a connection either, but still –"

"Butterfly effect," she confirmed ruefully.

"Yes," he agreed. "Just don't put _too _much pressure on yourself," he coaxed carefully. "If the prophecy is correct, I'm afraid it's really up to Harry. All we can do is support him – and that's something we _all _need to do, it isn't your responsibility alone."

And as Alex, rather than agreeing with him, deftly changed the subject, Remus couldn't help wondering about how hard she was pushing herself the rest of the week.

-&--&--&--&---

"All right, now that we think we've got the products worked out, what about the supply of ingredients?" Alex said, forcing herself to concentrate despite the fact that all she really wanted was to go to sleep. Her job was mentally tiring – probably more so than it would have been if she liked it – and the practice sessions with Madame Marchbanks trying to compress seven years worth of material into a few months were not exactly an opportunity to let her mind wander. Normally she slipped these meetings with Fred and George in between the two, but they had gone to the Burrow to visit their parents – apparently one of their brothers was going to be there for dinner too – so they had rescheduled for after practice instead.

"What do you mean?" George asked, frowning slightly. "Are you saying we shouldn't use our normal sources of supply for these?"

Alex shrugged. "It doesn't matter as long as you're sure they can deliver everything you need. I only brought it up because I've seen what it does to a business when a critical component is unavailable and production grinds to a halt. I don't want this to fail because we run out of something, so I'd suggest you start checking with your suppliers and make sure they'll be able to get you what you need when you need it."

Fred had been running his eyes down the product list as Alex spoke. "Most of these are items we already use – the quantities are slightly larger, but we could certainly borrow from our normal production and let _that_ run out instead – but there are a couple exceptions, so we'll check on those."

"Anything else?" Alex asked, rising with relief.

Fred surveyed her critically. "Want to try one of the new Jolly Jellies before you go? Perks you up."

"What will perk me up is some good old-fashioned sleep," Alex replied with an effort at a smile. "Much safer, too," she jested, slipping her wrap on.

"Why don't we walk you home?" George suggested easily.

"Thanks, but it's not that far," Alex said firmly. "Goodnight."

As Alex made her way back to her flat, she reluctantly concluded that she had to be slipping if the twins were starting to worry about her. When she arrived at the entrance, she forced herself to smile and respond cheerfully to the greeting from Peters, the doorman, despite her exhaustion. She had always thought that taking your moods out on people who weren't in a position to object – clerks and secretaries and such – was a really lousy thing to do, but as soon as the doors closed on the elevator, she slumped against the wall and closed her eyes as it carried her up.

Inside her flat, she stripped off her clothes and put on her nightshirt with automatic efficiency before slipping into bed. She had an early conference call – _ugh_ – and a tricky meeting in the afternoon, and _somehow_ she needed to find more time to study her Herbology before Madame Marchbanks started practicals or examinations in that subject.

Having finished with Transfiguration, Charms, and DADA before she moved out, she was now working on Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures. Alex had known it would be ridiculous to try to learn a dozen subjects at once, so she and Madame Marchbanks had put them in groups according to priority. Accordingly, Alex hadn't wasted any time so far studying subjects like Ancient Runes or Divination when the odds of it being of any practical use to her were pretty slim. Potions wasn't that bad – a lot of memorization, and you had to follow the instructions exactly, but at least it was understandable and predictable. They hadn't hit Magical Creatures practicals yet – and she had no idea how her teacher was planning to manage them – but the moving pictures in the textbooks gave you a pretty good idea what they looked like, and after recognizing them it was just a matter of remembering the rules for handling them.

Herbology ought to have been about the same, but the problem was that – to Alex's mind at least – all plants pretty much looked the same. If they weren't shooting off fireworks at you – and even in the wizarding world, those plants were decidedly in the minority – then there never seemed to be much to go on. She knew intellectually that there were ways to tell – counting leaves, and looking at shapes and such – and she could memorize the identifying characteristics of a plant as if it were any other type of list, but for some reason the information never seemed to connect in her brain. When she looked at a plant, she thought _tree, bush, _or _flower,_ with an occasional _oh, isn't that pretty/hideous,_ and then her mind went blank.

_I just have to find time to work harder at it, that's all,_ she decided firmly, knowing it was the last thing she wanted to do.

_I __wis__h Remus were here_.

The thought dropped unbidden into her mind.

She usually ended up spending most of Saturday with him, which was probably _much _more time than she ought to allow herself. Her job took time away from her studies, but she certainly wasn't doing it for fun and the money was definitely being put to good use. Evenings during the week were spent with Madame Marchbanks on practical exercises, which left her Saturday and Sunday to keep up with all the normal household stuff – laundry, and shopping, and such – and also to cram in as much studying as possible in preparation for the upcoming week to give herself at least a _chance_ of getting a decent amount of sleep. Then there were her other activities – which had to get squeezed in here and there – and all in all, spending most of an entire day with him every week seemed positively _decadent_.

Except on Saturdays. It never seemed like it was that long while she was with him.

Although it was starting to affect her at other times. She would find herself thinking that Remus would appreciate something she saw or heard, and making a mental note to remember to tell him about it. He kept slipping into her brain at the oddest times and resisted all attempts to banish him – or at least confine him to Saturdays. And at times like these, after a long and difficult day, she kept wishing he were here. There seemed to be a part of her that just wanted to curl up in his arms and let everything else go for a little while – which Alex's practical side thought was very weak-minded of her. __

Exhausted, Alex lay in bed and wished she could go to sleep.

-&--&--&--&--&--

A/N – Thank you all for your encouraging reviews; I really appreciate the support, as this is a very long story and I admit there are times when my energy starts to flag a little! The next part is almost ready to post, so while I do need to pay a little attention to Severus and Adrienne (now that I've finally got them in the same house), I should still be able to get chapter 20 up by the end of the extended Labor Day weekend. Comments – even critical ones – are always appreciated!


	20. Picnic in the Park

**_May 5, 1997_**

Remus spread the blanket out on a choice bit of grass and settled down to wait. He was early, of course, for their picnic, but he had been looking forward to seeing Alex again and he didn't want to miss a minute of their date. Besides, waiting here in the sunshine and fresh air – well, fresh air, at least, it was actually pretty cloudy – was infinitely better than waiting at home.

Alex was both an incredibly easy woman for Remus to date and a very difficult one.

On the positive side, she never gave the slightest indication that she was affected by his lack of funds for a proper courtship. She didn't hint about going out to dinner once in a while rather than eating at home, or wonder aloud why he didn't send her flowers. She gave every appearance of enjoying the simple and inexpensive dates dictated by Remus' purse and enlivened primarily by his ingenuity, without leaving him to shoulder all the burdens of their courtship alone. Today was a good example – when he had suggested the picnic, Alex had playfully offered to bring the hamper if he would supply the blanket.

She even continued to bring him occasional small gifts of the sort one would bring a host in appreciation for his hospitality – and regardless of the host's financial circumstances. Sometimes she brought a bottle of wine when she joined him for dinner, or small assortment of cheeses or chocolates, but nothing that made him feel that Alex felt obligated to replenish his larder. She had also given him a new Muggle game called The Settlers of Cataan that she thought he might like. Settlers proved to be a very fortunate gift, as Remus enjoyed the game greatly. He particularly enjoyed playing it with Alex – once the basic rules were mastered, it offered enough flexibility to allow them to make up their own scenarios for the game, which they both took great pleasure in doing. Remus loved to see her playful side emerge; he didn't think Alex had enough time for fun in her life.

Which was related to the reason Alex was an incredibly difficult woman for Remus to date – he never felt that he managed to get quite enough time with her, despite the fact that even as her schedule changed after the holidays, he nearly always got to see her at least once a week. This Monday picnic lunch was something of a rarity made possible by a bank holiday. He understood the difficulty intellectually (Alex had taken some sort of job in the spring which required her to travel from time to time, in addition to her continued studies with Madam Marchbanks) but his understanding did nothing to alleviate either his desire for her company – or the more primitive desire that was always lurking just beneath the surface.

Remus struggled manfully to control it – or at least the prevent it from becoming too apparent to Alex. Most of the time they did spend together was at his home, and with the unusual subtlety of courtesy that was so characteristic of him, Remus was reluctant to do anything that might make Alex even slightly uncomfortable while she was a guest there – albeit one who had never set foot above the ground floor. He also admitted privately to himself that he was deeply afraid of pushing her away, of frightening her with the intensity of his feelings – or worse, having her misinterpret his physical reaction to her presence as, well, merely physical. He counseled himself to patience, knowing that he needed to give her time to get to know him better.

His own restraint was severely testing his willpower.

When Alex did appear, his breath caught in his throat, and when she located him beneath the trees and smiled a greeting as she started towards him, he thought his heart stopped beating for a moment. When it resumed, he could feel the blood pulsing through his veins and suddenly everything was brighter. Colors were more brilliant, the birds in the distance sang when they had only chirped before, and the air was heady with perfume. He rose as she approached, taking the hamper from her as he kissed her cheek in greeting.

"I'm so glad to see you," he told her honestly.

"I'm happy to be here."

"You look wonderful." He thought Alex blushed just a little.

"I feel like I should have made more of an effort than just jeans to earn a compliment like that." Remus hadn't noticed what she was wearing, only the sparkle in her eyes. "I did make more of an effort with the food," she continued, "meaning that I found a good delicatessen! You have your choice of turkey, ham, roast beef, or chicken salad."

"How hungry were you expecting me to be?" he teased, settling back down on the blanket next to her.

"Okay, maybe I went a little overboard," Alex confessed, laughing, "but I wanted to be sure you got something you liked."

"I did." His eyes caressed her face and his hand moved automatically to follow, but he held it out for a sandwich instead. _Don't rush her, you'll scare her off._ "Roast beef," he said at random, having mentally eliminated the chicken salad, of which he knew Alex was particularly fond.

He allowed the conversation to shift to another topic, and watched as Alex relaxed, chatting happily as they ate. While one part of his mind kept up with the conversation, another part was marveling at the way the occasional ray of sunshine lit her hair, savoring the happy sparkle in her blue-green eyes, and trying not to think about how much he wanted to kiss her. _Patience_, he counseled himself silently. _For heaven's sake, surely you've got enough control to let her finish eating!_

They were stretched out facing each other on the blanket chatting after lunch, and Alex had propped her head up on one hand. The light afternoon breeze blew a wisp of hair toward her face, and he reached out to tuck it back in place. His hand slid through the sun-warmed silk of her hair to cup the back of her head, and he bent down to claim her lips.

He ought to be used to it by now – they had been seeing each other for more than four months – but the moment when their lips met always surprised him. When he thought about kissing Alex – or remembered kissing Alex, or dreamed about kissing Alex – it was the most wonderful sensation in the world. He was sure he knew exactly how her mouth would feel beneath his, and precisely how she tasted – and then, with the first touch of his lips against hers, he would realize again that nothing in his mind could ever replicate the reality.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he felt her stiffen beneath him. She had been responding so beautifully to him that her sudden tension was like a dash of cold water shocking him out of his pleasure-induced haze. He was at a loss to explain it until his brain lurched sluggishly into gear, replaying the echo of the words shouted in their direction by a teenage male passerby. Remus blanched.

"Alex?" he managed, surprised by how hoarse his voice was as he moved instinctively to shield her. Painful color was creeping up under her skin – and there was rather more of it exposed than there had been when she had arrived.

W_hat have I done?_

"I – it's fine," Alex said, pulling back as she restored her clothes to order. His body screamed in protest against the deprivation, but his brain had regained enough function to warn him that he was probably already in real danger of losing her.

"I'm so sorry – I never meant to –"

"Really, it's fine," she repeated hastily, still looking nervous and upset. With her clothes back in order, she seemed to be at a loss for something to do with her hands. After looking around helplessly, she started to repack the hamper.

"Alex, you must know that that kind of comment has _nothing_ to do with the way I feel about you," Remus said carefully, wishing she would look at him again. In another corner of his mind he began contemplating all the things he could do to the unfortunate cause of her distress – the _other_ unfortunate cause of her distress – if Alex weren't more important. Some of James' and Sirius' more outrageous conduct during their schooldays was a source of inspiration.

Alex did glance over at him as she closed up the hamper. "Remus, I'm not upset with you," she assured him. "Really. I just think – I should go now."

&--&--&--&--&--&--

Alex hurried past Peters as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention. When she finally reached the relative sanctuary of her flat, she abandoned the hamper on the kitchen counter and fled to the bathroom to splash cool water on her flushed cheeks.

_Just **throw** yourself at him in the middle of a public park – _a small voice in her own mind jeered. Then she heard a mental echo of the much cruder comment that had jarred her back to reality and winced. _Well, what did you expect? _She dried her face and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair wasn't too mussed, but her lips were still swollen and darkly pink, even without a trace of lipstick left.

In the middle of a public park on a public holiday – she supposed she was lucky it was a teenager who had seen them and not a bunch of schoolchildren. Or nuns. Or the Queen. She groaned aloud and left the bathroom to start pacing.

It wasn't that she would have minded if things had continued – something of an understatement – as long as it was somewhere with a decent bit of privacy. _Why couldn't it have happened at his home? Or why couldn't you keep enough of your wits about you to suggest moving indoors? _

Although it didn't look like Remus felt the same way, which was rather painful. Afterwards, he just looked upset. And then he made it totally clear that he hadn't intended to let things progress like that, which was incredibly embarrassing.

_I __nev__er thought **I'd** be one of the reasons that American girls are considered 'fast' in some other countries._

Alex didn't _think_ she was promiscuous – certainly not even close by American standards, under which she was really pretty staid – but maybe this was one of those cultural gaps you didn't realize existed until you _really_ messed something up because you didn't consider that you were in a foreign country and things were just _different_. Was four months of regular dating enough by British standards? And how was she supposed to find that out? Admittedly, she had known her previous lovers – of which there were less than a handful – rather longer than that before they had been intimate. But Remus was just so – so _Remus_.

Which was actually a bit unfair.

If he had to be so incredibly attractive, he should have been a bit of a bastard to even things out, or maybe a little slower on the uptake. Or even just _boring_. He shouldn't get to be attractive _and_ intelligent _and_ a thoroughly nice human being she had just embarrassed to no end because she couldn't keep her hands – or her hormones – under control. Despite the fact that she was a grown woman and had been for quite some time.

_And if anyone I was dating started explaining that the reason he couldn't control his behavior was that I was just too attractive for him to resist, I would have assured him that I was perfectly willing to remove the temptation from his presence. __Perm__anently._

Alex groaned again. There were times when she wished she was a little better at rationalization. Sometimes you wanted to pretend you hadn't screwed up as badly as you actually had.

On the other hand, maybe Remus would just ignore it – one of those British things. She had a mental image of a white-haired professor type lecturing to a class of young men, "Now if the woman you're dating – and we shall refer to her as 'the woman you're dating' as she is clearly _not_ a lady – offers herself to you in a public park, it is your duty as a gentleman to act as if she had not committed this dreadful _faux pas_," while Remus, looking very earnest, took careful notes.

"_Aauugghh_!" Alex threw herself onto the sofa, wondering how she could get her brain to just _shut up_ for a while.

Because the fundamental problem was that there was nothing she could do about it. It had already happened, and she was just going to have to wait and see what the consequences were. See how things went on Saturday and play it by ear.

And maybe wear something a little harder to get out of.

&--&--&---

Remus wasn't sure he could wait until Saturday to see Alex again after the way she had hurried off, although perhaps that was the most important reason for waiting – maybe waiting would allow him to step back a little and behave rationally enough to convince her that he wasn't a bastard. Stripping your girlfriend – even partially – in a public park had to be high on the list of ways to get her to dump you as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that was about the last thing he actually wanted to accomplish.

What he really wanted was to continue what they'd started – although preferably somewhere else where they wouldn't be interrupted – and allow it to progress to its natural conclusion. Then he wanted to do it again.

Repeatedly.

And somewhere along the way, he wanted to convince her to stay with him.

Instead, he'd driven her away.

He had known he wanted her a little too much, but he thought that if he was careful, he'd be able to control that desire enough to win her trust. Enough to make her really care for him, want to be with him. Enough that –

_One step at a time,_ he reminded himself yet again. First, he had to wait until she was comfortable with him again – the last time he had seen her, she had looked very _un_comfortable in his presence. He would have to exert even stricter control over himself this time – if she was still willing to see him, of course.

He would have to wait until Saturday to find out.

Unfortunately, that plan didn't work out very well. Thursday evening found Remus, seated between Bill and Sturgis at a meeting of the Order, calmly agreeing to lead the team on Saturday while groaning inwardly. The timing was terrible, but he knew it couldn't be helped. Still, of all the times to have to cancel a date with Alex, this had to be the worst.

"If those of you who are due to have their the charms on their talismans renewed would remain after the meeting, I believe we're adjourned," the Headmaster was saying as Remus forced his attention back to the proceedings. "Severus, if you wouldn't mind giving me a hand?"

Bill was among those remaining as most of the members of the Order headed out. "You don't look very pleased about Saturday's mission," he observed perceptively, stretching his long legs out in front of him as they waited for Snape to collect their talismans.

"Well, it _is_ very important," Remus assured him hastily, "and I do want to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"But …" Bill prompted as Remus hesitated.

"Well, there is someone I've been seeing and I'll have to break a date. _Not_ the biggest problem in the world," he admitted quickly, "and this is clearly more important, but – the timing is a little awkward. You see, the last time I saw Alex, we had a bit of a – well, let's just say I was hoping this weekend would get things back on track." Instead, he was going to have to cancel. Remus raised a hand to rub at his temple and missed whatever Bill said as Snape approached from behind Bill to take their talismans.

"Mmmh?" Remus asked vaguely as he started to remove it.

"It doesn't bother me if you _do_ prefer men if that's worrying you," Bill was telling him. Severus Snape, who had arrived silently behind the oldest of the Weasley offspring, was openly glaring at Remus, his normally sallow complexion flushed with anger, and Remus, holding out his talisman, wondered what he could possibly have done to upset Severus now. As Bill realized that Snape was there, he quickly pulled out his own talisman and handed it over.

The Potions master stalked off.

Remus realized that Bill was waiting for him to speak. "Sorry?"

"I was trying to tell you that it really wouldn't bother me if Alex was a man, I just wanted to get the pronouns right," Bill told him, looking a little amused.

"Well, that's very tolerant of you, but I'm afraid 'he' is a she," Remus returned lightly. "Not that it will make much difference if – "

"Fight?" Bill guessed. "Things haven't been going well?"

"Not exactly," Remus admitted uncomfortably. "In some ways, they were going a little _too_ well. In the middle of a public park," he confessed, and saw sympathetic comprehension when he met Bill's eyes. "Which I had completely forgotten until we were – interrupted."

"And now she's mad at you?"

"She _said_ she wasn't," Remus said doubtfully, shifting restlessly in his seat, "but she looked so upset, and then she just rushed off."

"Would she tell you if she was?"

Before Remus could formulate an answer, he saw Dumbledore's gesture. "Yours is ready," he said instead. Bill rose, clasped his shoulder briefly, and headed over to retrieve his talisman, leaving Remus alone with his thoughts.

_She's __nev__er actually lied to me,_ he reasoned. _Hidden things, and avoided questions, but she's never said anything that wasn't true – at least not to me – and she did say she wasn't – _

"I _knew_ it," Severus accused harshly, and Remus, who had not realized he was there, blinked.

"Knew what?" he inquired calmly.

"That there were more perversions beneath that sanctimonious skin of yours than the one that emerges under the light of the full moon!" Severus spat.

Remus rose to his feet with no outward sign of his inner weariness at continuing to be the focus of Severus' resentment. James and Sirius were _dead_, for heaven's sake – how long was Severus going to keep this up? And what had set him off this time?

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Severus," he replied, turning to walk over to join the Headmaster. To his great astonishment, Snape caught hold of his arm, gripping it with punishing force.

"Don't _lie_ to me," he snarled.

Remus felt his anger surge and froze in place. "Let go of me," he ordered, his voice dangerously quiet, but Severus seemed to be too far gone to notice.

"I _heard_ you," he declared angrily, "I – "

"_Severus_," the Headmaster hurried up, frowning, "what is the meaning of this?" Snape released Remus and turned to Dumbledore.

"Why don't you ask him how he's been spending his evenings?" Severus demanded, his face flushed with anger. "Or with whom?"

"I hardly think my personal life is anyone else's concern," Remus said firmly.

"_Black hasn't even been dead a year_!" There was an odd note of accusation tinged with pain in Severus' voice, and as his eyes met Dumbledore's, the Headmaster's expression changed. Dumbledore's light eyes were regarding the younger man with gentle sympathy, causing Remus to take another look at his former colleague.

With a flash of insight, Remus understood, and that understanding changed his response as his anger drained away.

"There may have been a misunderstanding," Remus said quietly, and the sympathy in his voice caused Severus to stiffen. "I mentioned that I had been seeing Alex, and I expect that her name caused some confusion. Sirius and I were very good friends, but only friends." Severus had turned to meet his eyes once more, and the depth of pain in them was such that Remus added instinctively, "Severus, I'm so sorry."

Snape turned with a sharp snap of his cloak and strode from the room.

"He's never going to forgive me for that," Remus said aloud, having realized his mistake a little too late. The Headmaster sighed a little.

"Not until he forgives himself," Dumbledore agreed, sounding resigned. "Your talisman is just about ready," he said, changing the subject. Remus nodded, and followed him back to the table where he had been renewing the charms. It was finished very quickly.

"Thank you," Remus said, accepting it back.

"Remus," the Headmaster began hesitantly, and Remus felt himself stiffen slightly.

"I meant what I said about my personal life," he warned, and there was a brief silence.

"Very well," Dumbledore said evenly, "I hope you know that I'm available if there's ever anything I can do."

&--&--&--&--

**_May 11, 1997_**

"You were right to have us check on ingredient supplies," George admitted to Alex as he lowered his juice glass and settled down to talk business. "We've got a problem."

"It's the Shadow Witch petals," Fred explained, using the common name of the orchid. "It turns out they only bloom in September and October in a very few coastal locations. We're going to need most of the supply this year, but the Ministry's already reserved half of it for N.E.W.T.s next summer. Every supplier we spoke to said the same thing."

"Is there anything else you can substitute?" Alex asked. Fred and George looked at each other before shaking their heads.

"I really don't think so," George said.

"We experimented with other things, of course," Fred interjected, "when we were still in development –"

"But we really need the corpse flower root, which caused everything else we tried to deteriorate too quickly in the third stage of the process –"

"Until we hit on the Shadow Witch petals. So while we could go back and try to reformulate again –"

"It would put us back quite a bit in development –"

"What with having to find two substitute ingredients rather than just one," Fred concluded.

Alex sat back in her chair, thinking hard. "I assume the Ministry has to want it for the examination in Potions?" she asked, and Fred and George nodded. "So the easiest thing to do will be to get them to change the examination so that it won't be needed." The twins exchanged glances.

"That may be easier than changing the formula, but that doesn't mean it will be easy," Fred warned. Alex's forehead creased.

"Who's in charge of the exam?" she asked.

George rolled his eyes. "There's a _committee_."

"We're not sure who's on it because it's supposed to be secret," Fred explained.

"To avoid bribery, blackmail, that sort of thing," George said knowledgeably.

"They set the examinations so far in advance because there's so much debate about them –"

"Have to get certain content in, rotate the material – but not predictably –"

"Adding new discoveries at the proper time without offending the traditionalists –"

"Or testing on material not included in the curriculum."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "So Severus just about _has_ to be on the committee – or at least know who is," she pointed out. "And the examiners would have to have some sort of contact as well, to keep the grading standard despite changes in the exam."

"That makes sense," George agreed. "So you think you might be able to manage it?" Alex shrugged.

"I'll give it a try, but we'd better not count on it. Even if we can get a couple advocates to argue for dropping whatever it is that the Ministry needs the petals for from the test, that doesn't mean the committee will agree to do it. And if we can't free up the Ministry's supply, we may have to make our own."

"Make it?" Fred questioned. "Are you thinking conjured or transfigured? Because if –"

"_Grow_ it," Alex interrupted. "It's a _plant_, isn't it? And we've still got half a year. Couldn't we just grow our own if we need some more?" George looked as though he were considering a new idea, although Alex thought it was fairly obvious.

On the other hand, that could have been because she still wasn't making much progress on Herbology.

"What would we need to grow it?" she asked belatedly. "Is it impossible for some reason?"

"Very little is actually _impossible_," Fred told her, grinning. "Some things are just a little more difficult." He glanced over at his twin, and they seemed to make a decision.

"Why don't you try to get the Ministry to pull its order, and Fred and I will figure out what it would take to grow what we need," George suggested.

&--&--&--&---

Severus had been expecting the Headmaster to "stop by to see how things were going" or "just pop in for a little chat" ever since the meeting of the Order on Thursday. The Headmaster was a big believer in the idea that talking was somehow helpful.

Severus disagreed.

Well, he understood that talking was _useful_ when you were trying to extract information – although he really regarded it as a subtle form of combat. How much could you discern about your opponent, and how little could you reveal yourself in the process? An interesting intellectual challenge.

But Dumbledore didn't mean it that way whenever he came down to the dungeons for "a little chat," although that was still the way it felt to Severus. He couldn't recall ever finding talking about feelings beneficial in any way. And these were too painful to be touched just now.

Accordingly, when he heard the first faint indication of a presence near the door, he refused to turn around and spoke preemptively. "I'm busy. Whatever it is will have to wait."

"Shall I make an appointment?" he heard Alex's voice inquire coolly. He dried his hands methodically before he turned around, his face impassive, but she was alone. She was dressed simply in jeans and a loose shirt she had obviously not chosen either to impress him or to conceal her Muggle background – a fact which irrationally raised her a little in his estimation.

"That depends," he parried. "How much time do you need? I'm rather occupied at present."

"I need to get the N.E.W.T. Potions examination changed." Severus allowed his lips to twist slightly in response.

"Left it rather late, haven't you?" he drawled.

"For 1998? You tell me."

"You want me to change the examination Potter will take? If you're hoping I can make it easy enough so that even _he_ will pass it, I must point out that I doubt the other committee members would countenance such a drastic reduction in our standards." The snide remark relieved his feelings a little – lowering admission – but it didn't seem to bother Alex, who was helping herself to a chair just as though he had invited her to settle in for an Albus-like chat.

"I don't care who's taking it or how they score," she returned easily, apparently unaffected by his rudeness. "I want this year's crop of Shadow Witch petals, and the Ministry's reserved them already."

_Shadow __Wi__tch petals?_ What was she doing with those?

"I suppose it's possible that something might be arranged," he returned cagily as his mind busily set to work reviewing all the possible uses of Shadow Witch petals. He considered asking her whether there was an appropriate substitute, but discarded the idea immediately. She wouldn't have bothered to ask him to change the examination if something else would do just as well.

"How soon will you have a sense of whether you'll be able to pull it off?"

Alex's phrasing seemed to imply that Severus' skill was the determining factor in whether it happened or not, which got his back up a little before he reined himself in. What was worse was the fact that Alex, glancing at him for an answer to her question, seemed to realize it.

"I only asked because we may need to look into growing it if we can't get enough through normal channels," she explained casually.

"The committee will meet again at the end of June," he informed her coolly. "At that time, we will review the results of the examination we're about to administer and consider whether we need to make any changes to the next one in light of those results."

&--&--&--&--&--

A/N – Thank you all for your kind comments – I really needed them at the moment as Severus and Adrienne were not cooperating with me, which was a bit discouraging, but I will persist. In response to a comment (thank you for noticing!), I have _not_ put in anything specific yet about Alex's job – I'm afraid you won't find out until Remus does, which is notfor some time. The break between chapters 19 and 20 was one I struggled with, as the material in 19 does foreshadow some plot points and was included for that reason (not fluff, but of some importance later) although it doesn't have quite the emotional resonance that the picnic scene does – at least to my mind, but please let me know what you think. On the other hand, the lengths worked out a little better breaking where I did, as the picnic scene is fairly long – and I had a feeling I would be pelted with virtual tomatoes if I ended a chapter and left you all hanging just when Alex left Remus in the park.

Thank you again for your interest – and comments are always welcome!


	21. Old and New Wolves

**_May 13, 1997_**

Remus read through the note from Alex again with a pang of pain. Waiting an extra week to see her after their last disastrous date had been bad enough, but now this –

The parchment gave a little twitch in his hand, reminding him that she was probably waiting for his response. Snatching up a quill, he thought for a moment before penning a hasty reply.

_Alex,_

_I'm very sorry that we won't be able to see each other on Saturday, although of course I understand. If your business trip should happen to end earlier than you expect and you find yourself free, please let me know, as I'm really looking forward to seeing you again. If not, perhaps you might be able to come a little earlier on the 24th? I'd love to have you join me for __brea__kfast, as I'm sure we'll have a lot to catch up on. In the meantime, I'll be thinking of you and hoping you enjoy your trip._

_Remus_

As the parchment disappeared, he stared at the spot where it had been with a sense of loss, roused from his reverie only when he heard the front doorbell chime.

"Edmund, how nice to see you," Remus exclaimed pleasantly when he saw the man standing on the doorstep. "Come in, won't you?" There was nothing in Remus' voice to reveal the rapid and distressing assessment he made of Edmund's condition. The man he had met more than a year ago at St. Mungo's had looked his own age – early thirties, between Remus and Bill – but the man in front of him looked much older. His eyes darted around the hallway nervously before he edged across the threshold.

"You, you said that if ..." Edmund began helplessly.

"You're very welcome here," Remus soothed. "Why don't you come into the kitchen and have a cup of tea? We can talk." He put his hand gently on Edmund's shoulder to guide him back toward the kitchen, and noted the way he twitched at the touch. _Dammit, I should have been paying more attention! __Vis__ited in person instead of believing his owls._ But he needed to put his self-recrimination aside for the moment to tend to Edmund, so he kept up a gentle stream of soft conversation while he made a hasty tea and settled Edmund down at the battered kitchen table. Remus was unaware that he had deposited his skittish guest into a chair which was vacant according to his new mental map which unconsciously labeled the chair Alex normally sat in as _hers_, and therefore not available to be used by a visitor.

It took a steady stream of nonsensical talk, two cups of tea, and at least three-quarters of an hour for Edmund to get to the point.

"You – do you think – I wanted to ask –" Edmund shuddered to a halt.

"You can ask me anything, Edmund," Remus reassured him.

"Well," he hesitated one more time, and then the dam broke and the words flooded out in a rush. "I listened to what they told me when I registered, and the healers, and I locked myself up instead because I didn't want to _remember_, and I didn't want to know, but, dear god it _hurts_, and there are still fragments even without the Wolfsbane and it seems to be getting worse! It's harder to heal every time – and I've already had to replace the door twice – and now it's coming _again_ and I don't think I can take it! I actually starting thinking about the potion but I'm not sure I could stand it – to have to remember – so I thought I'd ask you what it was like because I don't know what else to do."

Remus heard him out sympathetically, all too aware of what Edmund had endured. He was also sharply reminded of how different their experiences were. To Remus, who had lived with his lycanthropy for so much of his life – decades really, maybe longer than Edmund had been alive – Wolfsbane Potion was a godsend, despite the taste.

To Edmund, it was evidently something to be feared.

"So you want me to tell you what the moon is like with the potion?" Remus summarized from Edmund's rather disjointed speech. Edmund looked at him with fearful plea in his eyes.

"Would you mind?"

"Of course not," Remus assured him quickly, as he considered how best to frame his response. He didn't want to lie about it, but Edmund's nerves were thinly stretched already. "I'm sure they already told you that it has a very unpleasant taste, and it doesn't affect the pain of the transformation itself. But once you're in wolf form, the fact that your mind remains intact lets you avoid injury – you just wait out the moon until you change back. And you don't have to worry about hurting anyone else either."

"I don't care about _that_," Edmund muttered darkly, his face drawn. "Maybe then they'd understand."

Remus knew that his natural reaction to that statement would push the already fragile man seated at his kitchen table further away, so he quashed it and contented himself with a less obvious rebuke.

"I wonder if that's what the werewolf who bit _you_ was thinking," he said casually. Edmund paled, and Remus gave it a moment to sink in before he continued. "Having your mind in the wolf's body can be unnerving at first, but I promise you that you _will_ adjust to it in time."

"They said it's still there," Edmund whispered, his eyes dilated with fear. "The wolf is there _with_ you."

"It is," Remus agreed, "but that doesn't mean you have to listen to it."

"It – _talks_ to you?"

"Not exactly. Not in words, the way we're talking. When I first started using the potion, it was mostly feelings, instincts. The wolf would want to hunt, for example, and I could feel that drive – but I didn't have to give in to it."

"Is it hard?"

"At first," he admitted, "but it _does_ get easier." Remus was trying to think of a way to explain this to Edmund in a way he could understand when he had an idea that made him smile. "Actually, it's a lot like puberty."

"Puberty?" Both of Edmund's thick, dark eyebrows shot up.

"You remember the early stages of puberty? You have all these hormones on a rampage, and it seems a bit like you're a stranger in your own body, because all of a sudden it's sending you these messages about what it wants – urgently, powerfully, and _now_ – and there are moments when you wonder if you're about to completely embarrass yourself." The younger werewolf was nodding at him, looking much more relaxed.

"There was a girl in my Muggle Studies class who always slipped in just at the last minute," Edmund reminisced, grinning bashfully. "Sat in front of me so she had to walk right by me to get to her seat, close enough for me to smell her perfume. Then she'd be _sitting_ there, right in front of me for the rest of the class! I thought I was losing my mind – or about to do something that would get me expelled – and I had to sit there for the entire rest of the term! I was so afraid of what I might do that I dropped Muggle Studies as soon as I could."

"But you still managed to survive the term – and probably without giving in to your hormones in the middle of the classroom. And over time, even though it doesn't ever really go away, you _do_ learn how to handle it," Remus pointed out soothingly, feeling like a fraud as he said it. Apologizing afterwards and praying that you hadn't irretrievably damaged your relationship was not, to his mind, a great example of the skill of a mature man in controlling his behavior around an attractive woman, but the analogy seemed to be helping Edmund, so he ignored his own discomfort. "As you develop some skill in controlling it, it doesn't frighten you as much as it did at the beginning."

"Well, I did manage to survive puberty," Edmund admitted, sounding a little resigned. "I suppose I can give the Wolfsbane a try. At least it may stop me from hurting myself quite as much. But I'm not looking forward to having a wolf in my head, I can tell you that."

"It's not always that bad," Remus assured him. "I just wanted to be honest with you about what it was like in the beginning, but the wolf learns too. After a while, the wolf seemed to understand that I wasn't going to be persuaded to hunt just because of how badly it wanted to. Most of the communication at first was, well, _urges_. Some feelings – it became angry that I wouldn't give it what it wanted. Now it's a little different, more images. The wolf shows me things it wants, tries to make suggestions."

"You mean it shows you _eating_ people?" Edmund choked out, his eyes widening again.

"One time, _very_ early on, when it first figured out how to communicate that way, it showed me an image of the wolf hunting," Remus admitted, deciding that "eating" was a little too graphic for Edmund's state of mind. "But don't ever forget that your own feelings are there too, it's not only the wolf's. The wolf sensed my, well, revulsion, in response to that image and it never did it again. Not out of consideration, you understand, but because it realized that it wasn't going to be an effective persuasion."

"You said it shows you things it wants. What does it want, other than ..."

Remus smiled again a little. "Well, lately, it seems to be trying to persuade me to get it a cat." He saw Edmund's eyes widen again, and added hastily, "_Not_ to eat, Edmund. Remember that werewolves are really only dangerous to humans."

"Why else would a werewolf want a _cat_?" Edmund asked, looking as though he wasn't quite sure that Remus was serious. "Are you sure it isn't trying to trick you?"

"I think the wolf is probably lonely," Remus said thoughtfully, a remark which apparently dumbfounded his visitor. "A friend of mine used to have a dog that would visit during the full moon, but he died a while ago, and the wolf misses him. Lately he's been showing me images of the wolf with a cat – just a stray I saw briefly at a train station – and I think he's trying to persuade me to get a pet so he wouldn't have to be alone during the full moon," he explained. "I was a little concerned at first, but the wolf seems to have figured that out, and lately he's been showing me images of them playing together, or both curled up asleep in front of the fire. The wolf is a lot bigger than the cat, of course, so I think he's trying to reassure me that he would be careful not to hurt it."

Edmund listened to this with an expression of utter astonishment, and when Remus finished speaking, he actually started laughing, but his laughter had a hysterical tinge to it. In a few moments, he put his head down on the kitchen table and the laughter changed to tears. Remus reached out to rub comforting circles on his back, and eventually Edmund recovered enough to sit up again, and rub the dampness off his face.

"All this time, I've been _terrified_ of keeping my mind while I'm a _werewolf_, and then you tell me yours is trying to persuade you to get it a pet cat to play with!"

"There are bits of humor in everything. Even in this, if you look hard enough," Remus counseled kindly.

"Not enough to make up for the rest of it." The storm seemed to have passed, and Edmund looked pained and exhausted, albeit no longer quiet as jittery as he had been when he arrived.

"No," Remus agreed flatly, "but you learn to take what you can get."

-&--&--&--&---

**_May 14, 1997_**

Enough time had passed that Severus thoughtlessly replied to the tap on the door of his private workroom with permission to enter, only to realize when he finished decanting the Lulling Libation and looked up that the Headmaster had apparently decided that his "little chat" couldn't wait any longer. With the next meeting of the Order scheduled for the following night, Severus supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Well?" Severus asked shortly. The Headmaster regarded him with the patient concern which Severus had come to expect, although he had to admit that the Headmaster's subsequent request was rather unexpected.

"I wondered if you would be kind enough to send double doses of Wolfsbane to Remus this month?" he asked placidly. "Remus has a guest staying with him who would like to try it as well."

Severus' lips compressed. "One of Lupin's progeny?" he inquired darkly. "I told you he wasn't safe."

"No," Dumbledore told him simply, but there was a hint of reproach in his eyes. Then he just stood there and _waited_. After a few minutes of this treatment, Severus turned back to his workbench and began to clear up.

"Very well," he said shortly. "I'll take care of it." As he restored his workroom to order, he realized that the Headmaster had no intention of leaving. He was still standing patiently in the same place. "Was there anything else?" Severus asked, in the futile hope of prodding him to go away.

"Yes."

Severus sent a jar of wormwood flying across the room and back to its spot on the shelf. "Well?" he bit out again. Dumbledore walked over to him and grasped his arm with surprising firmness.

"Severus, _caring_ for another human being is not a weakness." Severus jerked his arm away.

"Don't be a fool," he snapped back.

"I'm worried about you."

"And I'm sure that concern is adding immeasurably to your happiness!" he returned sarcastically.

"You can't look at these things in isolation," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Yes, I'm worried about you at the moment, but at other times, you have made me very proud. I wouldn't give that up just to avoid worrying." Severus shot him of look of disbelief, but the Headmaster held his gaze.

"I do not wish to discuss this."

"I know that," Dumbledore replied equably, "but I think you need to." After a lengthy silence – patient on his part and stubborn on Severus' – he added, "Would you prefer to discuss it with someone else?"

"_Good god, no_!" Severus returned immediately, then realized how neatly he had been trapped. "How long have you known?" he asked eventually, resigned and determined to get it over with, but also a little curious – one of his besetting sins.

"I had my suspicions while you were in school," the Headmaster told him simply, ignoring the look of horror spreading across Severus' face, "but I wasn't really sure until I realized the sacrifice you were prepared to make. That demonstrated great nobility on your part – or perhaps very great feeling. I'm inclined to think both." Severus sank down onto the stool in front of his work bench and covered his face with his hands. Dumbledore reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Why did you hire me if you knew?" Severus managed at last. "How _could_ you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Severus looked at him in disbelief.

"For heaven's sake, Severus, it's not as though you were a pedophile," Dumbledore said with a rare touch of impatience.

"That doesn't make this _normal_," Severus said with some difficulty.

"If by normal, you mean that you're not inclined to marry another pure-blood and produce the requisite number of pure-blooded progeny, then no, I suppose not – however I fail to see why you should live your life to accommodate those who are only concerned with the so-called purity of blood," the Headmaster told him very firmly, then added carefully, "I wasn't aware you had any personal desire to replicate your family experiences for another generation." Severus' lips compressed again, but he rose without responding.

"I have things to do," Severus said at last.

"I know."

Severus summoned the jar of monkshood over to check the supply for the upcoming week. "Do you think he – knew?" he asked the Headmaster.

"I don't think so," was the cautious reply, and Severus heard the Headmaster moving away. As he reached the door, Dumbledore added, "Remus would know better than I, of course."

Then he left and closed the door behind him.

-&--&--&--&---

All things considered, Harry was surprised at how little Ron and Hermione's changing relationship affected the underlying friendship between the three of them. Ron had returned from his first date with Hermione at Hogsmead looking blissfully dazed, an expression that remained on his face for quite some time. Moreover, he was suddenly possessed of the conviction that Hermione couldn't be expected to carry her own books anywhere, despite the fact that she'd been carrying what was probably one of the heaviest book bags in the school all over Hogwarts for some years now.

Hermione was actually quite adept at managing her things – much more so than Ron, who had just gone through another growth spurt which afflicted him with a Neville-like clumsiness that made him dangerously incompetent as a porter. Despite the damage to her book bag (Hermione was able to mend the strap very neatly), her books (they re-attached the cover of her Advanced Arithmancy text with some spellotape), and even – to Harry's amazement – one of her homework assignments doused in a broken bottle of ink ("It isn't due until next week, and I was going to rewrite it anyway to add some new material I found on the use of dragonshells before the Salzburg treaty went into effect,"), Hermione bore this fairly well while it lasted. Perhaps fortunately for all concerned, Professor Sprout inadvertently put an end to this practice when the normally easy-going teacher was moved to give Ron detention for his repeated inability to get to Advanced Herbology on time; he simply couldn't do it when he took a detour to carry Hermione's bag up to the Advanced Arithmancy classroom.

Ron no longer avoided Hermione's table in the Gryffindor common room, of course, and a group of fourth years had eventually taken over the sofa he and Harry had stopped using. At first, Ron was more likely to stare dreamily across the table than to actually get any work done, but Hermione quickly put a stop to that.

"How's your essay going?" she asked him one evening in the spring, prompting the red head to straighten up and look around for his Care of Magical Creatures text.

"Oh, I've got loads of ideas," he rallied hastily. Hermione received this calmly and started to pack up her book bag for the night.

"I'm glad to hear it," she told him pleasantly, "although I have to admit I'm a little sorry you haven't had time to finish it yet. I _was_ going to suggest we go for a walk around the lake before I headed up to the dorm, but you know I would never want to be responsible for interfering with your school work." Ron's face had brightened at the mention of a walk – not that Harry suspected they would have walked far enough to get much exercise, however long they were gone – but then fell again at the conclusion of this speech.

"But –" Ron began weakly.

"Oh, well, maybe some other time. Goodnight," Hermione finished, smiling at Harry pleasantly and treating Ron to a gentle, lingering kiss before she turned neatly around and disappeared up the stairway to the girls' dormitory, leaving Ron staring disconsolately after her.

He turned back to Harry with an intensely frustrated expression on his face and pulled his Care of Magical Creatures text over rather roughly. Harry, who found the whole thing secretly amusing, after once glance at Ron's expression decided it would be more tactful not to say anything and turned his attention back to his Potions text.

"What kind of a girlfriend would rather you spent the evening writing an _essay_ than paying attention to _her_?" Ron demanded irritably.

Several answers to this occurred to Harry – one who didn't want you to flunk out of school, for example – but he only said, "Hermione, apparently," without raising his eyes from his book.

Ron had grumbled at bit, and then picked up his quill.

The approaching end of their sixth year at Hogwarts meant that they once again had to revise for examinations, but it was some consolation – and a bit scary – to know that they were the last. Well, at least the last other than N.E.W.Ts, but Snape wouldn't be grading those. Hermione was always very nervous about examinations, but Ron – who was more confident than usual himself this year as a result of the extra studying inherent in being Hermione's boyfriend – seemed to have acquired the ability to settle her down just a little. The difference was probably not apparent to the second year who caught the sharp edge of her tongue after accidentally setting off one of the Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs in the common room (he was reaching for a canary cream to hand an unsuspecting first year) but the change, albeit a slight one, was noticeable to Harry.

They still all ate together, but Harry and Ron had more classes together – and Quidditch practice – so Harry didn't feel that he never got to see Ron any more. And after Harry returned to the common room very late one night and found Neville and Hannah occupying it in a way that made Harry (after stammering an awkward apology) bolt for the dormitory with a silent vow _never_ to go near that sofa again, he decided he was thankful that his two best friends seemed to prefer privacy for, well, whatever level of that sort of thing they were at. He was happy for them, of course, but there were some things he just didn't think he needed to _see_.

-&--&--&--&---

**_Later_**

Remus had convinced Edmund to stay with him, at least through the full moon and for a little while after. Although he didn't inquire about Edmund's living situation, the younger werewolf could not have been getting appropriate support if his condition was any indicator, so Remus set aside his personal concerns and pressed Edmund to stay.

Edmund's first taste of the potion was obviously bad enough that only Remus' assurances and support got him to finish the first goblet, and none of the other six that followed before the full moon seemed to improve his opinion of the flavor. When he finished the last one, he looked at Remus with an expression oddly mixed between resignation and despair and said, "What now?"

Remus calmly finished his own goblet and set it down. "We've got another hour before moon rise. Shall we have a hand of cards before we head downstairs?"

But Edmund was too jumpy to concentrate his mind even enough for Exploding Snap, so Remus led him down to the cellar he had used for his transformations as a child. Now he preferred the familiar warmth of the study – one of the benefits of Wolfsbane – to the cold and rather damp cellar, but he thought the extra precautions were warranted under the circumstances. It would be Edmund's first experience with Wolfsbane, and Remus admitted privately to himself that Edmund's mental balance was a little precarious at the moment – not to mention the unknown impact of having two werewolves together. He would have preferred that they transform separately, but he suspected Edmund would regard this as a form of abandonment, so he didn't mention it. Leaving their clothes outside the door – which Remus carefully locked – and wrapping themselves in a couple old blankets, they settled down to wait for the moon.

Remus sensed when it was coming, as did Edmund if the dawning terror on his face was anything to go by.

"You'll be _fine_, Edmund, trust me," Remus managed to get out before his own transformation started. He rode out the familiar agony, and took a moment to adjust to his new body.

The heightened sensory levels overloaded his ability to process at first – as they always did – but he quickly sorted through the data. Familiar scents and an unfamiliar one, which his mind quickly labeled as Edmund's wolf. His own wolf was curious, but not overly alarmed at the presence of a strange wolf in his territory. Fear was coming off the intruder in waves, and he whimpered helplessly – _not _much of a threat. Still, the wolf let Remus know that he wanted to move between this stranger and the way to the rest of the den, and Remus agreed, circling over to stand, tail erect and alert, in front of the door. Then he waited.

It took Edmund longer to pull – himself ? – together than it had taken Remus, but he did eventually stop whimpering. Edmund's wolf raised its head to look around, but lowered it – and his tail – submissively as soon as he saw Remus' wolf.

The wolf's suggestion to Remus struck his human side as a little odd, but he could feel the tension rising in Edmund's wolf, so he decided to trust the wolf's instincts. Remus did not think of himself as that aggressive, but his wolf seemed to think it would help. Much to his surprise, the wolf was right. Edmund's wolf rolled over on to his back immediately, and Remus could sense its relief as it did so.

That ritual completed, Remus allowed the wolves to play for a bit, wondering if Edmund had realized before tonight just how playful they were. Then he settled down for a doze, prudently positioned near the door. Edmund played a bit longer alone – he seemed to find his tail fascinating for some reason – before he too settled down for the rest of the night.

The transformation back was also painful. Just as he began to feel relatively comfortable in the wolf's body, he was forced back into his own, his moon enhanced senses ebbing away. His body protested the abuse, having been reconfigured in ways it wasn't meant to be, and Remus took a minute to collect himself before forcing himself to his feet. It took delicate maneuvering with human hands to unlock the door; he dressed himself quickly, despite the aching stiffness of his limbs, and carried Edmund's clothes in to him.

Edmund was blinking up at him from where he still lay on the floor.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked. Edmund sat up and began to inspect himself. "I don't think you injured yourself," he added calmly.

"I know, but – I just wanted to check," Edmund admitted sheepishly before starting to dress, wincing a little.

"Why don't you have a little something to eat and take a nap?" Remus suggested compassionately. "I'm pretty sure you'll feel better when you've had some rest."

Edmund was quiet and pensive while he ate a light breakfast and then disappeared upstairs to rest. This suited Remus – who was not exactly in top form himself – well enough. Although he didn't mention it to Edmund, he was rather wishing he had heard something from Alex as the day wore on.

He wasn't expecting to hear from Bill, who rang the doorbell early that evening.

"What a nice surprise!" Remus greeted him, stepping aside so Bill could enter the hallway. "Please come in. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I can only stay a few minutes," Bill replied, adding, "I'm meeting Fleur. I understand you have some company at the moment?"

Remus looked at him, then said, "Why don't we step into the study?" and led the way. As he closed the door and cast a quick Silencing Charm, he added, "Edmund is upstairs," and Bill nodded.

"I just wanted to fill you in on the meeting last night. There was a lot of discussion about what to do with Harry over the summer, although nothing was decided. Dumbledore wants him with his relatives until his birthday – or very close to it. Mum and Dad want him too, of course, although the Burrow isn't really suited to host too many other people. Sturgis offered his house again this year, and so did Hestia and Dedalus Diggle, although I get the impression Dedalus wasn't a serious candidate for reasons no one explained."

"He enjoys a joke, but he tends to be a little forgetful at times," Remus explained absently, his mind sorting through the possibilities for Harry's summer. "No one really wants to find themselves suddenly walking on the ceiling or squawking like a chicken, although most people are too kind to say so. He always _means_ to clear everything out before any guests arrive." Bill laughed.

"Well, I think Dumbledore wants to have a plan in place before the end of term, so it will probably be settled in the next couple meetings."

"Has anyone asked Harry what he wants to do?"

"Oddly enough, I don't believe that came up in our discussions," Bill informed him dryly.

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Bill," he said, clasping the younger man's shoulder briefly.

"Any time."

-&--&--&--&---

A/N – I just wanted to assure all of you that Alex will be back in the next section – while I love reviews, I didn't want to cause a panic!


	22. A Chair and a Half

"Thanks." Alex stood up to go after her regular meeting with the twins. It had run a little late – her absence from the country meant they had a fair amount to discuss – but it wasn't as late as she thought it would be when she was arranging her practice schedule with Madame Marchbanks. "Let me know if you need anything."

At the wall where she'd entered, she hesitated for a moment reaching for her cloak. "I wonder if I could ask for your advice on a, well, a personal matter."

"Flattered," George said immediately.

"What do, well, non-Muggles do for entertainment?" Alex asked. "I would like to repay someone's hospitality, but I'm not quite sure what would be appropriate. Is seeing a play or hearing a Muggle concert something that a wizard would enjoy, or are there better options for the magical community?" Maybe something like that would be a good way to show Remus she was interested in taking their relationship further – and that she could behave properly in public, she admitted with an inward wince.

"Music's safer than a play," George told her knowledgably, "but Quidditch is better than either."

"Quidditch?" Alex's forehead creased momentarily. "Oh, that broomstick game."

Fred and George looked horrified.

_"That broomstick game?_" Fred repeated. "Alex, you wound me!"

"Wound _us_," George corrected. "There is _so _much more to Quidditch than just _flying_!"

"Well, since I don't know anything about either one, I'll just have to take your word for it," Alex told them dryly.

"Don't know –" George put a hand over his heart and sagged back into his chair. His twin shook his head mournfully.

"A tragedy," Fred pronounced, "that clearly needs to be remedied immediately." The look in their eyes was making Alex nervous.

"Look, if you'll just tell me how to order tickets –"

"Sit down, this will take a while," George told her. "We are going to teach you the basics of the greatest sport that ever existed in the history of the world." Alex took an instinctive step back from the enthusiastic light in his eyes.

"Just the essentials –" Fred coaxed.

"The bare minimum –" his twin chimed in.

"Only what every witch should know –"

"_Must_ know –"

"To avoid embarrassment –"

"Or possible discovery –" George added cannily.

Alex sighed, and returned reluctantly to the table.

**_May 24, 1997_****__**

Having accepted the cardboard carrier containing two coffees and an orange juice with an automatic smile, Alex headed back outside. After passing a few storefronts, she stepped sideways into an alley and checked to make sure it was vacant as she shifted the bakery box to the same hand as the drink carrier and pulled out her wand.

Then she did nothing.

_He invited you, didn't he?_

Unless his note about having a visitor was intended to make her beg off and not come? And she, like an idiot, had just picked up an extra coffee and some more pastry instead!

_You'll never know if you just stand here,_ she told herself forcefully. Then she took a steadying breath and Apparated to Remus' back garden.

He was waiting outside for her, which he didn't usually do, and the moment he caught sight of her, he began to close the distance between them. After slipping her wand up her sleeve, she set the box and drink carrier down on the ground before he reached her with some half formed idea of leaving them if he told her he couldn't – or didn't want to – see her today after all.

Instead, he pulled her into a hug.

Remus was a _wonderful_ hugger, Alex decided silently. Some people hugged with only their arms, sort of like bowing into a double pat. Remus put his whole body into it, so that as his arms closed around her, she was blissfully surrounded. She could almost feel all her earlier nervousness and tension draining away as she inhaled deeply and nestled against him. The world righted itself.

He didn't seem to be in any hurry to let her go, but after a time he told her quietly, "I missed you," with his voice muffled by her hair. Alex rubbed her cheek against him before drawing back just enough to meet his eyes.

"I'm glad you told me," she replied gravely, although she suspected that her eyes gave her away, "I would never have guessed!"

"Minx," Remus replied softly, smiling. "Did I tell you I had a visitor?" he asked, and she nodded. "New werewolf – well, relatively."

"Expanding your pack?" she teased.

"Would you mind?"

"Male or female?" she blurted out betrayingly, but Remus laughed out loud as if she had said something that particularly pleased him.

"Male, I promise," he assured her, still smiling broadly as he pulled her closer again. Alex noted absently that he seemed to have a thing for burying his face in her hair. Not that she minded, but when he spoke to her from that position, his voice – rich and softly husky and _much_ too close to her ear – did things to her that made it very hard to concentrate on what he was saying. "His name is Edmund Treslin."

"Well, I brought a second coffee, but he can have my orange juice in a pinch," she offered.

"He can have coffee," Remus said immediately, sounding almost slightly – dismissive? Alex drew back to look at him, a little surprised, and there was a touch of embarrassment in his expression. "I mean he _likes_ coffee," he corrected quickly, "so there's no reason for you to give up your orange juice."

"It wouldn't be a huge sacrifice," she pointed out. "I like coffee too sometimes."

Remus' expression was an odd mixture of warmth, rueful humor, and something else Alex wasn't quite prepared to label. "Why are we talking about coffee?" he asked, but the kitchen door swung open then and Edmund's head and part of his bare torso emerged.

"Remus, where – er, sorry," he apologized quickly as he caught sight of Alex.

"I put the clean towels in the linen closet just outside the bathroom," Remus told him, and Alex wondered if she was imagining the trace of resignation in his tone. Remus wasn't really hugging her anymore as he turned to face Edmund, but he left an arm around her waist so she did the same. "Breakfast is here, so just come down when you're ready and I'll introduce you to Alex." Edmund acknowledged this with a sort of odd, ducking nod and quickly disappeared. "I suppose we'd better go in."

Alex reached down to pick up the carrier, but Remus reached over and snagged the box before she did.

"Let me get that for you," he suggested, holding out a hand to take the drink carrier as well.

"Don't be silly, you won't have a hand left to hold the door open!" Alex said blithely.

-&--&--&--&--

As Remus watched Edmund conversing very respectfully with Alex, he was silently debating whether or not to ask her where she had purchased the chocolate croissant he was currently enjoying. It was an incredible way to enjoy chocolate – warm and wrapped in delicate layers of flaky pastry – but then he tried to imagine eating them without her and quickly decided against it.

Other chocolate, certainly, but not croissants.

He rose automatically when Alex did at the end of the meal, only to realize at the same moment she did that there weren't any dishes to do. Their eyes met in shared amusement, and they smiled at each other.

"We could just vanish it," Remus pointed out. All that was left was cardboard, paper, and plastic.

"I guess so," Alex admitted. "Old habits die hard," she added as he cleared away the remains of their breakfast away with a wave of his wand. "So, Settlers?" Alex continued, glancing at Edmund. The three of them could hardly play chess.

"I can go upstairs for a bit –" Edmund demurred awkwardly. Alex looked amused.

"It's not that difficult to learn if you haven't had a chance to play it before," she told him easily. "But if you're trying to give us some privacy, I'd like to point out that we hardly need it to play a board game. If you _really_ want to be tactful, though, could you refrain from being offended after lunch when I invite Remus to go for a walk?"

Edmund relaxed then, grinning at the pair of them and looking better than he had since his arrival. "Right, then. Anything I can do?"

"Why don't you read through the rules, and we'll join you in a minute to help set up the board?" Remus suggested. "The box is with the games in the study." He waited until the door closed behind Edmund before turning to Alex.

"Thank you for making him feel welcome," he told her. "And for being so understanding about this. I really wanted to be able to spend more time with you today –" _alone,_ he finished silently.

"That's all right," she said quickly, then darted him a questioning look. "I wasn't sure if I should still have come – or suggested a walk later. If you want to spend some time with Edmund, I could –"

"_No,_" he interrupted, much too forcefully. Realizing how rude he had been to Edmund (even if he wasn't within hearing range), he tried to think of a polite way of correcting the statement, but gave it up almost immediately. "_You're_ the one I've been wanting to speak with," he began helplessly, stepping forward to take her hands, "and I –"

Before Remus could get any further, they were interrupted by Edmund, who stuck his head in excitedly to ask, "What colors do you play?"

Remus' instincts were a little too close to the surface right now, and his first reaction to this intrusion involved blasting Edmund into another postal code. He wasn't entirely sure civility would have won out in his response to Edmund if it hadn't been for the knowledge that Alex had already managed to get them some private time with her walk remark earlier.

"Alex likes to play blue, and I usually play red or yellow, but it really doesn't matter," Remus told him, releasing her hands reluctantly. He should have been content to wait until they were really alone before trying to talk to Alex, he admitted silently to himself. It wasn't fair to blame Edmund for his own impatience.

"Okay, thanks," Edmund said as he disappeared again.

"Shall we?" Remus asked with a determined smile, offering Alex his arm to lead her into the study.

Remus was not at his best playing Settlers that morning, although it worked out reasonably well for Edmund, who enjoyed the game in happy ignorance. Remus proposed lunch as soon as he decently could. When they finished, he told Edmund that he and Alex would have their pudding later, asked the younger man if he would mind taking care of the dishes, and set off at a fast pace away from the house.

"May I ask where we're going?" Alex asked after a time. "Or if we're on a deadline?"

Remus realized he had been striding swiftly along for quite a while now, and Alex, her hand clasped tightly in his, had been walking – almost running – along with him the whole time.

"Sorry," he said, running his free hand through his hair and stopping to look around and get his bearings. "I just wanted to get away. I'm starting to feel like there's a conspiracy to prevent the two of us from, er," he struggled a bit and finished lamely, "getting anywhere."

Remus looked around – plenty of grass and trees, but no chairs – and his shoulders sagged slightly. "I suppose I shouldn't have led us _away_ from the most comfortable place to sit and talk," he admitted wryly. He hadn't been thinking clearly enough to bring a blanket along – although perhaps a blanket wouldn't have been the smartest choice after the picnic fiasco.

Alex pulled out her wand, and Remus realized it was the first time he had seen it in decent light. Something about it was tickling his memory, but Alex, her eyes narrowed in concentration, conjured, and then Remus was distracted by the result. While it looked quite comfortable, it was too wide to be a chair and not quite wide enough for a sofa. There was a matching foot stool in the same strange middling size.

"Is it supposed to look like that?" he asked doubtfully after an interval.

"Yes," Alex said, a little defiantly, "it's a 'chair-and-a-half'." As Remus absorbed this without comment, she added, somewhat wistfully, "Do you want me to conjure another?"

"Absolutely not." Remus marched over, took a seat, and put his feet up, drawing Alex down into the 'chair-and-a-half' with him. She could have joined him without much contact between them if she had tried – neither of them took up _that_ much space – but Remus was quickly coming to the conclusion that this 'chair-and-a-half' thing had been designed with snuggling in mind, and arranged the two of them accordingly.

"This is a _lovely_ piece of furniture," he announced approvingly, "positively _brilliant_."

Alex relaxed against him and smiled. "I love it when you talk British to me," she teased. Remus smiled back at her, reaching out to capture one of her hands and carry it briefly to his lips.

"I'm glad," he said simply. "Although maybe I should be worrying about all the other blokes out there who could 'talk British to you' instead," he reflected aloud.

"When, exactly?" Alex complained. "I barely have enough time to spend any with _you_."

"Good point."

There was a comfortable silence. Alex was settled against him in a very satisfactory way, and Remus just wanted to enjoy holding her for a while.

"I _missed_ you," he said at last, unaware that he was repeating himself. "I kept thinking of things I wanted to tell you, but I never had the chance, and it seemed like much more than nineteen days since I saw you, and I hated the way we left things between us."

"Me too," Alex admitted. "I've been feeling very –" she paused, searching for an appropriate word.

"Unsettled," Remus supplied.

"Exactly," she agreed immediately.

"Alex, I –" he paused apprehensively, his arms tightening instinctively around her, but then she rubbed her cheek against him in response and he found the strength to continue. "I'm so _very_ sorry for my behavior during our picnic."

"Oh?" Alex raised her head and darted a quick look at him.

"I can't tell you how much I regret putting you in that kind of a position," he continued penitently.

"Oh?" Alex was frowning now.

"But I'm certainly willing to _try_ to convey just how very sorry I am," he added quickly, "and I promise you that I would _never_ allow anything like that to happen again."

"Which part?" she inquired cautiously, still frowning.

"What?" he asked blankly.

"What, exactly, are you promising will never happen again?" she asked carefully, her eyes guarded.

Remus' eyes widened as he grasped the nature of her question. "Not– _no_! I only meant embarrassing you in public, which was _very_ wrong of me and nothing I ever intended to do, but I did _not_ mean our lovemaking, which I would very much like to continue. In privacy. When you're ready. I didn't mean I didn't want you." He stared at her, dumbfounded. "You _can't_ have thought I didn't want you!"

"Well, that doesn't have to mean that you thought it was a good _decision_," she pointed out, relaxing a bit again.

"I _do_," he insisted quickly. Then his conscience prompted him to continue. "When _you_ do, that is. I'm trying not to rush you."

Alex looked at him. "Really not a problem," she said dryly, and he felt the laughter welling up again.

"Oh, god, Alex," he managed, halfway between a groan and a chuckle. "Why did you have to say that with Edmund in the house?" He buried his face in her hair for a moment and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent. "Because I really want to make love to you in my bed – which is rather selfish of me as it's nothing special in the way of a bed and decidedly small for two people – and I want it to be only about _us_. But he's leaving tomorrow if he's recovered enough, and I think he will be. And _please_ say I can see you again next Saturday – or any other time after tomorrow that I can talk you into it – and you won't be off on a trip somewhere –" He paused for a slow, drugging kiss and the rest of the sentence – _when I need you_ – remained unspoken.

When she opened her eyes again some time later, Alex looked delightfully dazed. "I don't think so," she managed confusingly. "I mean Saturday," she clarified. When Remus – who was secretly rather pleased to see Alex less than her usually articulate self – quirked an eyebrow at her, she tried again, "I mean I don't think I'll be off on a trip somewhere."

"Good. Because we don't have much time left," he replied absently, smoothing her hair quite unnecessarily. He might have missed her slight tension in response to that statement if she hadn't been cuddled quite so close.

"Oh?"

"Harry," he explained. "I'm supposed to go stay with him when we settle on where he's staying after his time with the Dursleys." Alex nodded, and he felt that nearly imperceptible tension ease.

"That's important. I don't ever want to interfere with that," she agreed instantly.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.

"About what?" she parried – which was, he supposed, an answer in itself.

"Anything," he answered broadly.

Alex _looked_ at him.

"Anything I ought to know," he qualified. "Unless you're not telling me because you're afraid of damaging the timeline? I hope you know I wouldn't want you to do that."

She was silent for a while, apparently thinking. "It's not the _before_ I'm thinking about, it's the _after_," she said at last.

"After something has happened that you knew about before?" Remus guessed, and Alex nodded. "I don't think I understand what you mean," he admitted, confused.

"Well, I've been trying to keep things separate," she explained guiltily. "I'm not really sure that's entirely _possible_, but I made a conscious decision when I left Grimmauld Place that I was going to avoid interfering directly with the Order as much as I could. It's really Albus' venture, and just because – well, without going into that, I don't actually want to undermine him, I just think that I need to take care of certain things myself."

Remus shifted slightly so that one hand was free to move in slow, soothing strokes on her back. "While I appreciate the thought – and the effort – I don't want you to think you have to do everything yourself."

"I've had help," she assured him immediately. "It's not that I'm doing everything alone, it's more that I've tried to minimize how much I've asked of anyone who's a part of the Order. I don't think that would be fair – to Albus or to the person."

"I understand. And I don't have a problem with the idea that you're involved in things you don't discuss with me." Remus tried to find a formula of words which would reassure her without making her feel guilty. "Alex, our relationship is very special to me," he said carefully, "and it's important that you know you can confide in me without worrying that I might betray your confidence."

"What I _can_ do and what I _should_ do are two different things," she retorted. Then she sighed. "Remus, I don't intend to put you in a difficult position by telling you about things beforehand – what _I _might be doing, I mean, since Albus told you about the events themselves – but I'm struggling with the _after_ part because there isn't really the same conflict since you could hardly be expected to talk me out of anything that's already happened! On the other hand, maybe you've already figured it out, and you just don't want to talk about it – which is fine if that's the case, although I suppose it means I'm making a fool of myself – or maybe you were waiting for me to say something? It's just –" Alex broke off this very confusing outpouring helplessly. Her eyes were dark with concern, and embarrassed color was creeping up under her skin. "It feels like I'm keeping secrets from you," she said awkwardly, "which doesn't feel – _right_ – without a good reason. But if you don't want to know – or talk about it – then it would be wrong of me to force it on you just so I would feel better."

Remus was finding this unexpectedly difficult to follow.

"If I understand the essence of the question, then, yes, I would like you to feel you can share things with me, even if it's only because it will make you feel better. I have the feeling that I'm missing something fairly significant here," he confessed, "and it would help if I understood what we're really talking about."

Alex caught the edge of her lip between her teeth for a moment, regarding him with anxious eyes. Then she levered herself up off his chest with an expression that made him instinctively reach for her, but she was disappearing even as he did so.

He felt his jaw dropping as he realized what was happening. Then he was staring, still open-mouthed, into the green-gold eyes of a small, dark cat.

_I am an idiot,_ was his first coherent thought.

Because it was right there in front of him the whole time.

In retrospect, it was so obvious that he should have figured it out long ago. What with Kings' Cross – and the outpost – and James, Sirius, and Peter – and Minerva – and Albus –

Cat, holding herself very still, continued to regard him through luminous green-gold eyes from her perch on his chest. Remus stared back in wonder. Cat had always seemed to be darting away from him, never sticking around long enough – or close enough – for him to really study. He could study her now – the beautiful eyes framed in dark fur with an unusual silver-blue tinge to it – and he started to reach for her to see if her silky coat was as soft as it looked, but he caught himself just in time.

"May I?" he asked formally, his hand still extended.

Cat took a dainty step forward across his chest and pushed her head against his hand, reminding Remus deliciously of the way Alex rubbed her cheek against him at times. A few minutes later, Cat was purring luxuriously as he stroked her, her eyes nearly closed in feline delight, and Remus' face was split in a delighted grin.

"I can hardly believe you're the same cat that wouldn't let me pet you," Remus teased affectionately.

Cat opened her eyes and sniffed huffily before rolling smoothly back onto her feet. A moment later, Alex was leaning against him again.

"Well, I was trying not be forward," she told him a little crossly, levering herself up a bit. "It didn't seem very ethical to take advantage of the situation when you didn't know what was going on!"

"I promise you I wouldn't have minded," he teased. "But you could have told me," he added mildly.

Alex shot him a sidelong look that was an odd combination of embarrassment and irritation. "Well, if you _had _already figured it out – which didn't seem unlikely – and were just being tactful enough not to say anything – or even if you hadn't – you can hardly have expected _me_ to be bring it up!" she argued.

"Well, I hadn't, and I don't see why not," he retorted confusedly.

"What was I supposed to say? '_Hi. Remember me? You don't know this, but I crept into your sleeping bag and went to sleep curled up on your chest last night._' You don't think that might have been a bit awkward?" The edge in her voice was belied by the color stealing up behind her skin, but she met his eyes valiantly. The hint of vulnerability he saw in them was his undoing. "Even for medical reasons," she added hastily. Her color deepened and her eyes dropped. "Well, mostly. You _were_ very cold, you know."

Alex seemed to develop an unusual interest in one of the buttons on his shirt.

"I _like_ the idea of your sleeping on my chest," he managed, his voice rough. Alex darted a look up at him again then, and he took the opportunity to kiss her rather forcefully. After he released her, he swallowed hard before he was able to continue speaking. "I'm only sorry I didn't know it at the time! And while I can see why you thought I should have figured it out – I noticed your wand earlier but I didn't even make _that _connection – and I can only plead that the animagus transformation really _is_ a good deal rarer than you would think judging from the fact that I happen to have known five of them personally."

Alex, who seemed to be settling down again, wrinkled her nose at this. "Well, turning into a cat wasn't exactly something I _expected_. Albus was a bumblebee, and while I knew from Madame Marchbanks that the nature of wizard being transformed had a lot to do with the animagus form, I guess I still expected a form closer to his. I mean, since it was his magic. And it's not just that I don't have a cat now, I've _never _had one. I don't know anything about cats!"

"I think it suits you," Remus said fondly "and you make an adorable cat."

-&--&--&--&--

A/N – I'm very sorry about the _incredibly _long delay between parts, which was due to both 'real life' and the fact that I re-wrote this section several times and ended up restructuring the overall timeline for the story to accommodate some of it. In the original plan, the relationship in Remus and Alex didn't develop the way it now will at the end of May until the end of October, but trying to force them to keep to that timetable really wasn't making sense (they were getting a little impatient), so I reorganized the entire story instead! If it's not obvious from where I left off, let me assure you that there is some fluff coming in chapter 23, but I didn't want to delay any longer in posting as it's been so long since I updated. The next part won't take nearly as long, but thank you for your patience (and your reviews!).


	23. Lie Back and Think of England?

Edmund did finally leave on Sunday afternoon, after repeated professions of gratitude that made Remus inwardly wince. He was all too conscious of his guilty pleasure in clearing the house of his unexpected guest to be entirely comfortable accepting any appreciation, though he was kind enough not to show this to Edmund.

The younger werewolf hadn't been gone long before Remus began to wish him back again.

Without Edmund, there was nothing to distract him from the absence of Alex, and he wondered whether waiting until Edmund was gone to make love to Alex was simply foolish. Edmund had treated her very respectfully, but the idea of taking Alex to his room with Edmund in the house – knowing what they were doing because, Silencing Charms aside, there weren't _that_ many reasons for taking your girlfriend up to your bedroom in the middle of the day and closing the door – had really not appealed to him at the time. Then there were the practical concerns – Edmund was still a guest who had to be fed – and Remus hadn't wanted to be distracted by worries about appeasing Edmund's entirely different appetite.

Now that Remus was looking at the long week stretched out before him, his decision seemed an act of lunacy. He tried reminding himself that he was a mature man and capable of some measure of self control. He had wanted Alex for what seemed to be a very long time, and he had survived it all without ever making love to her. Surely he could manage another week?

Remus quickly concluded that thinking about how long and how much he wanted Alex was not going to help the situation. What he needed was some good, hard work to keep himself occupied.

Sunday evening he restored the guest room to order, then gave the upstairs bathroom and toilet a good scrubbing in the hope of tiring himself out. Still, his sleep was restless.

On Monday, he turned out the kitchen and dining room completely so he could properly clean the cupboards, drawers, and pantry before turning his attention to the appliances, the furniture, and the linens.

On Tuesday, he went to work on the front parlor, but there wasn't much work needed there so he moved on to the study. He took every one of the books off the shelves, cleaned everything (books and shelves), and reorganized the collection.

When he finally dropped into bed that night, he gratefully acknowledged that at least he had a visit with Harry to look forward to – then a meeting of the Order on Thursday – and then there was only Friday and Friday night to get through before he saw Alex again.

-&--&--&--&--

**_May 27, 1997_**

Harry took his glasses off for a moment to rub at the bridge of his nose. Even with examinations coming up very soon, the professors seemed to feel that the sixth year students could somehow manage to continue normal classwork until the very last minute – despite the fact that they all really needed to be concentrating on revising now. It was one thing coming from Snape – who seemed to be in such a foul mood lately that he had been deducting points from students in his own house – but even Professor Sprout was assigning essays. They had hardly ever had long written assignments from her before – her teaching style had always focused on practical exercises in the greenhouses – but now they had a major assignment due on Monday which required each student to plan out a wizarding garden plot for home use, accompanied by a full roll of parchment justifying the plant selection (a minimum of ten different species), explaining their care requirements, and defending the proposed layout. The fact that Monday was also the first day of examinations or that the finals for the Quidditch Cup would be played on Saturday had apparently not deterred her from giving the assignment.

"Any idea how often you have to water vetiver? All it says in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ is 'low moisture'," Harry asked wearily.

"Search me, mate," Ron replied simply. "I just avoided the grasses altogether." Harry stared down at his parchment. Maybe he'd just stick to the 'low moisture' bit – he certainly didn't want to switch to something else at this point.

"There's an encyclopedia of drought-tolerant plants in the library," Hermione told him absently, frowning at her Arithmancy assignment. "I'll find it for you tomorrow if you like."

Harry shook his head. "It'll have to wait 'til the weekend," he said, setting his assignment aside. "I've got Quidditch practice after class every night the rest of the week."

Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.

"It's the finals for the cup," Ron interjected defensively. "We've _got_ to practice. And you should know better than anyone how well prepared Harry and I are for examinations."

"I didn't say a word," Hermione said virtuously, gathering her books. Then she spoiled it by adding, "Of course, if I _did _say something I might point out that the two of you are not the only people on the team." She dropped a quick kiss on Ron's lips, murmurred "See you tomorrow," and disappeared up the stairs.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Ron demanded. Harry shrugged, but before he could actually say anything, the portrait door opened and Ginny stepped in. She was holding on to one of her classmates – a dark-haired fifth year who looked both queasy and terrified – and they were followed by another fifth year carrying a double-load of books.

"Nan, this doesn't seem like normal examination nerves to me," Ginny was urging her, her voice an odd mixture of coaxing and exasperation. "You _really _need to go see Madame Pomfrey."

But 'Nan' shook her head stubbornly. "No, I don't," she said mulishly, then covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, her eyes widening. Ginny and the third girl exchanged a speaking glance behind her back. "I am going to finish my O.W.L.s," she vowed with surprising determination. "There will be plenty of time for me to be sick later."

"Er, anything we can do, Gin?" Ron ventured, but his sister shook her head.

"We can get her upstairs," Ginny replied.

"I can get myself upstairs," Nan retorted, marching resolutely toward the stairs to the girls dormitory, her book-laden companion following behind her. Ginny looked after them with an unreadable expression in her eyes for a moment before shrugging and walking over to join them at Hermione's table.

"Nerves?" Ron asked.

"She _says_ so," his sister agreed dubiously.

"Maybe she's been taking something she thinks will help her do well," Harry suggested, remembering the wide variety of substances circulating the school before last year's O.W.L.s – and Hermione's discovery that they were rarely what they purported to be.

"I'd better have a word with Hermione," Ginny agreed absently.

"Er, how are things going?" Ron asked. Harry suddenly realized that they hadn't seen much of Ginny lately – outside of practice, that is – and gathered that Ron had just realized it as well. In the past, she had hung out with Hermione a bit more – although, now that he had come to think of it, she had probably not had as many opportunities to do that after Ron and Hermione started dating. Of course, Ginny was dating Dean, so perhaps that explained it, even though she hadn't been with them the last time they went to Hogsmead.

"Pretty well, actually," Ginny was saying, regarding her brother skeptically. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Well, if you _were _having problems, you could tell me," he suggested awkwardly. "I mean, you _are_ my sister."

"I had noticed that," she retorted dryly, and Ron flushed.

"I just meant – er –" Ron stumbled, but Ginny relented and reached over to pat him reassuringly on the back.

"Sorry, Ron," she apologized. "I do appreciate the thought, you know, and I didn't mean to snap at you. I suppose I must be more affected by O.W.L.s than I'd realized."

"S'okay."

Whether prompted by Hermione's comment or otherwise, practice on Wednesday did not continue as late as Harry had expected, which was something of a relief. Harry was just mulling over what he could do with the extra time when Hermione slipped into the seat next to him and handed him a pass.

"Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office after supper," she explained, and Harry grimaced. Hermione looked at him reproachfully and reached for a slice of roast beef.

"Sorry," he muttered, stuffing the pass into a pocket of his robes. "I was hoping to have some extra time tonight. Practice was shorter than we planned, but I wanted to get to work on the assignment for Snape." The Potions Master had just given the sixth year students in Advanced Potions a new assignment – _two _rolls of parchment discussing Malodora Grymm's contributions to medieval potion brewing, due on Monday. Even Hermione had looked less than enthusiastic.

"I'll help you, Harry," Hermione offered generously.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully, before turning his attention to his food. He didn't pay too much attention to the conversation after that. Professor McGonagall hadn't appeared for supper at her usual place at the head table. If Harry was able to catch her in her office before she came to supper instead of waiting until after, perhaps he could still get some work in on the Potions essay.

The Head of Gryffindor House was still in her office when he arrived. She was seated at her desk, surrounded by several large stacks of parchment, holding a quill in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other.

"Oh, it's you, Potter," she said tightly. "Well, come in." She looked vaguely at the remains her sandwich before setting it down on a small plate. "You're early," she announced, regarding him with disapproval.

"Er, sorry, Professor," he apologized quickly, just as Madam Hooch stuck her head in the door.

"Argus has cornered a couple of your second years in the third floor corridor," she reported, and Professor McGonagall sighed.

"Thanks, Rolanda," she replied wearily, setting her quill down. Madam Hooch surveyed the pile of papers on the desk with her yellow eyes.

"I can take your seven o'clock hall duty tonight, if you like," the flying instructor offered. "Quidditch practice ended early."

"Could you?" Professor McGonagall brightened visibly as she rose and straightened her robes.

"No papers to mark," Madam Hooch returned, and the two exchanged speaking looks as the Head of Gryffindor House, very erect, headed out of her office.

"Er, should I –" Harry ventured.

"Stay put, Potter," Professor McGonagall ordered just before she closed her office door smartly behind her. Harry groaned inwardly and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

-&--&--&--&--

When Remus stepped out of the fireplace, Harry – who had been slumped rather disconsolately in a chair in front of Minerva's desk – leapt to his feet.

"_Remus?_"

"Hello, Harry," he smiled. Harry started toward him eagerly, then hesitated, looking a bit uncertain, so Remus opened his arms to give him a hug as if it were perfectly normal. Harry, obviously relieved, hugged him back rather hard as Remus wondered, with a pang, how often one of the adults in his life had offered him this simple human contact.

"How are you?" Harry asked excitedly, pushing his glasses further back on the bridge of his nose. "And what are you doing here? If I'm allowed to ask, that is."

"I'm fine, Harry, and I came to see you," Remus told him quietly, clasping his shoulder gently. "Shall we sit down?"

A shadow crossed Harry's face as they seated themselves. "What's wrong?" he demanded bluntly.

"Nothing's wrong, Harry, I just wanted to talk to you about plans for the summer," Remus said quickly, noting the relief that flickered across Harry's countenance, immediately succeeded by resignation. "You know you'll have to spend some time with the Dursleys, but we've been having some discussions about what to do after that."

"And?"

"And I wanted to get your opinion before we make a decision."

Harry's lips compressed. "What are the options?" he said at last, his voice carefully controlled.

"The Weasleys' offered, of course, although space is a little tight, even with only Ron and Ginny still living at home," Remus began, calmly outlining the possibilities. "Sturgis would like to have everyone back again if you're interested in returning to Clapham, and Hestia offered her place as well – it's near Plymouth, by the sea."

"Does it make any difference in who can come?"

"The Weasleys and I will be there regardless, and Hermione if she accepts the invitation."

Harry regarded him with eyes that were older than they should have been. "Then I don't think it matters much where we are – to me, at least. I mean, I suppose you'll all be looking at security issues and such, so you may as well make a decision that way."

"That doesn't mean we wouldn't try to take your wishes into account," Remus said gently.

"I know, and I – I appreciate it, really I do."

-&--&--&--&--

Ron and Hermione were waiting at their usual table in the common room when Harry returned some time later, still clutching McGonagall's pass – which he had been obliged to produce three times on the short trip from her office. Once they were done with the 'summer plans' discussion, he had enjoyed a nice visit with his former professor – until Professor McGonagall returned and made a few pointed remarks about the examination schedule. Remus had excused himself immediately then, and Harry had returned to Gryffindor tower.

"Hey, Harry," Ron greeted him, fairly cheerful in spite of the pile of notes in front of him. Hermione, seated next to him, regarded Harry keenly.

"Anything you want to share?" she inquired as Harry took a seat across the table, but Harry, leaning back in his chair, looked around the crowded common room and shook his head.

"Later," he said simply.

Hermione's eyes narrowed very slightly. "Lean forward," she directed conversationally, pulling Ron further in as she did.

"Huh?" Harry said, confused. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"_Lean forward_," she repeated more firmly. Harry, after a glance at Ron who looked equally confused, shrugged and obeyed. Once his head and shoulders were over the table, Hermione's wand began to move.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked curiously.

Hermione murmurred one more word and finished up with a neat wave of her wand. "Silencing Charm," she informed them with some satisfaction. "I used the edge of the table as the perimeter. They won't be able to hear us as long as we keep our heads inside."

"Good idea," Harry told her, and Hermione gave him a rare grin in return.

"So, what's up?" Ron asked. Harry's mouth twisted a little.

"Nothing much, really. Remus – Professor Lupin – came by to talk to me about where I might like to go after I put my time in with the Dursleys this summer."

"And?" Hermione prompted.

"And I told him I didn't think it mattered," Harry returned bleakly. Underneath the simple statement was everything he had left unsaid.

"_Harry _–" Hermione said helplessly.

"I _know_, okay?" Harry said immediately. "There's nothing anyone can do to bring him back. I understand that, but it doesn't mean I don't miss him." He saw Hermione's mouth open again and cut her off. "And yes, I really do appreciate Remus taking the time to ask for my opinion, but it's still a reminder of a lot things in my life that I don't have any choice about. I'm _stuck_ with the Dursleys at the moment – and _stuck _with the prophecy – and there's nothing I can do about any of it right now. But don't expect me to be _happy_ about it!"

"We _don't_," Ron told him firmly. Seeing the sympathetic expression on his familiar freckled face, Harry relaxed a bit.

"You mean you'll put up with my whinging?" Harry returned, starting to smile a little.

"Up to a point," Ron conceded, grinning back at him. "Long as you don't let it get out of hand!"

"Well, after this, my summers should be Dursley-free," Harry pointed out, perking up somewhat, "so at least I won't be whinging about _them_!"

-&--&--&--&--

Nothing was decided during the meeting of the Order on Thursday.

There been an attack at a local cinema that afternoon, which naturally occupied most of the meeting time, although Remus couldn't help wishing they had been able to reach a decision on plans for Harry's summer. It would have given him another excuse to visit. He didn't want to disrupt Harry's revising, of course, and he did understand that his visiting the school was both a risk and a burden, but, well, his admittedly brief visit Wednesday night had left him very much of the opinion that Harry needed more adult attention. Preferably of a type that wasn't so clearly tied in to the prophecy. While he thought that the other members of the Order tended to underestimate Harry in some ways, they also needed to remember that he was still a young person rather than a battle-hardened warrior – whatever he had survived so far.

Having exhausted his options for indoor cleaning by this point – and acknowledging that fretting about Harry or missing Alex were not exactly productive uses of his time – he decided to settle down to gardening on Friday. Not his normal puttering to keep things looking nice, but a major overhaul with significant pruning, transplanting, and the complete relocation of a path of stepping stones. He was satisfactorily exhausted – as well as less satisfactorily sweaty and covered with dirt – as afternoon slipped into evening.

Then Alex's note popped in – Madame Marchbanks' great-nephew's wife had given birth to the next generation of the family and the ancient witch had canceled practice – and he scribbled his assent eagerly and sent it on its way before he realized the state he was in.

Then he started to swear.

"If it's a bad time, you could have just said so," Alex said reasonably from behind him. Remus turned, and started toward her before he stopped himself.

"No, it's just – I'm filthy, and I have to put the tools away, and I haven't started supper," he explained mournfully.

Alex surveyed him for a moment, then stepped toward him and kissed him gently, only their lips touching. When she drew away, she smiled impishly and wrinkled her nose. "You are rather fragrant," she admitted. "Would you like me to –"

"_No_," he protested before she even finished. "Don't you dare go _anywhere_! Just bear with me while I get a quick shower and get something going for supper. _Please_."

"I was going to offer to pick up some take-out – sorry, take-away – so you could have a bath in peace," she said evenly, after a short silence.

"I – sorry," he apologized sheepishly.

"So, any suggestions? What are you in the mood for – Indian? Mexican? Chinese?"

"The only thing I really want right now," Remus told her, deliberately holding her eyes, "is _American_."

-&--&--&--&--

Alex was waiting in the kitchen when he came back down after a hasty – but thorough – bath.

"Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate malt," she told him humorously as she began to unpack the white paper bag for him. There was a second brown paper bag beside it, and seeing his eyes on it, Alex added, "Fish and chips," in a deceptively neutral tone. Her blue-green eyes met his. "My personal preference was for something a little more native to the region."

Remus grinned in appreciation, and settled down to supper. He could never remember later what they talked about, only the odd combination of utter contentment – Alex was _here_, with the whole evening stretched out before them, and he was finally free to make love to her, and he reveled in that knowledge – and impatient anticipation. After clearing away the remains of supper, they retired to the study. Alex was seated beside him, and his arm was around her, but he hadn't quite dared to kiss her yet.

There were limits to his self-control.

"Alex," he interrupted in desperation after checking the mantel clock for the umpteenth time, and finding to his intense frustration that it hardly seemed to have moved at all, "how soon do you suppose I could properly invite you upstairs? Without causing offense?"

Alex did not seem at all upset about the fact that he had just rather rudely cut off whatever she had been saying – not that he had the faintest idea what it was. She just looked at him with an odd light in her blue-green eyes, and gave him a slow half-smile with lips that trembled just a little.

"I could narrow it down for you if I had a calendar," she told him unsteadily, "but I'm guessing that was about a month ago."

-&--&--&--&--

He really meant to remember to enlarge the bed – his wasn't designed for two – but other sensations kept intruding.

"Front –" Alex explained breathlessly.

"What?" Her hands slid down his shoulders as she helped him shrug off his robe, and the feel of her hands on his skin –

_Not supposed to be an erogenous zone – _

He shuddered helplessly, and trailed his lips down to capture the delicate hollow at the base of her throat.

_Oh, god, this feels so good – _

Then, a heartbeat later –

_Why the devil can't I get this thing off?_

"Clasp," she managed. "_Front_."

Oh, yes. He had to pull back a bit to manage it – fiddly little thing – but then, thank god, that was out of the way. He reached for her again, but her hands were tugging at something – clothes in the way – why had he never realized how many layers there were in dressing? So confining.

"Stupid," he muttered aloud. He was dimly aware that he might not be communicating very clearly, but Alex was in his arms again, her breasts pressed against his chest without those annoying obstructions.

_Dear heaven, the feel of her skin – _

"Layers," he explained vaguely.

Alex made an agreeable noise in the back of her throat.

Good, he hadn't offended her.

-&--&--&--&--

"That was – wow!" Remus said quite some time later, when he'd recovered enough to speak.

"Absolutely," Alex agreed with gratifying promptness.

"You sound surprised," Remus observed, teasing her just a little.

"Well, I was rather out of practice," she admitted, a new tinge of pink in her cheeks. Remus chuckled.

"Me too," he said, pressing an affectionate kiss on top of her head. He could feel the soft exhalation of her breath against his skin as she lay nestled in his arms, and marveled that such a small thing could affect him so powerfully.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it was impossible to hide that effect from Alex – at least in their current positions. He shifted slightly, but not soon enough.

"Again?" she asked, looking quite startled.

"Well – only if you _want_ to," he assured her quickly. She seemed to consider this for a moment before lowering her head to place a languorous kiss along the jaw line just below his ear.

"I think it's an idea with potential," she told him in a teasing tone.

"Really?" Taking advantage of the opportunity, he rolled them over slightly, positioning her conveniently. "I'm _more_ than willing to do all the work," he offered, grinning. Alex reached up and linked her hands behind his neck.

"Meaning I'm not supposed to do anything other than 'lie back and think of England'? Because that doesn't sound like much fun," she objected.

He chuckled a moment before he kissed her again.

-&--&--&--&--

He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he felt her stir.

"I'd better get going," she said softly, tilting her head up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth and then starting to pull away.

"What?" he said blankly.

"I really did wear you out, didn't I?" she smiled. "I said I need to start moving or I'll splinch myself on my way home."

"You're _leaving_?"

"Yes, of course," Alex seemed puzzled by his reaction. "It's really very late. Or very early, depending on your point of view."

"I was hoping you would stay," he said quietly. He had just assumed she would spend the whole night with him – a bad assumption on his part, he realized belatedly. Alex was looking a little doubtful. But she was planning to spend Saturday with him anyway, wasn't she?

"Won't it make you, well, uncomfortable?" she asked.

_Not nearly as uncomfortable as lying here wishing you were beside me_, Remus thought.

_Should have remembered to enlarge the bed –_

"Not at all," he replied immediately. "I would like it very much." Alex settled back against him a little hesitantly this time, and his arms encircled her gratefully.

It wasn't until he was certain that she was safely asleep that he relaxed enough again to slip into slumber himself.

-&--&--&--&--

**_May 31, 1997_**

Harry and Ron returned from breakfast to find Hermione – who had already eaten when the two of them woke up – surrounded by a pile of books at her usual table. Ron rolled his eyes before bending over to give her a quick morning kiss.

"You _are _coming to watch the finals, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, but there's loads of time 'til then," she replied absently.

"The game starts at ten," Harry pointed out, glancing at his watch.

Hermione looked up blankly for a moment, then looked down at her own watch and frowned.

"That's still enough time for me to finish this up," she announced firmly, her eyes falling on Ron. "You might even get your –"

"Harry and I just have time to get our gear and head down to the dressing rooms," Ron interjected quickly. "Harry wanted to stop in the library on the way," he added, appealing to Harry with his eyes.

"Yeah, for my Herbology project," Harry improvised quickly. Well, he _had _planned on going at some point, just not _now_, he told himself to salve his conscience. "Watering vetiver?"

Hermione – whose memory for anything academic was excellent – nodded immediately. "The encyclopedia I mentioned is in the fourth stack on the left, about halfway down."

"Thanks," Harry said weakly, carefully avoiding Ron's gaze.

"We'll see you at the game," Ron told Hermione, who already had her head back in a book and only nodded.

"Do you suppose she'll remember to come?" Ron asked Harry nervously as he gathered his stuff together.

"Of _course _she will," Harry told him bracingly. "She's never missed a game before –" well, she had, but there had been a good reason, although he wasn't sure Ron saw it that way " – and I'm sure she won't miss this one. She'll study up until the last minute, but she'll still come."

"It would really be great to take the cup," Ron said wistfully as they headed out.

"Your keeping's a lot better," Harry said encouragingly. "And even if we don't win this year, at least it won't be Slytherin!" The words sounded a bit hollow to Harry, who himself wanted Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup rather badly, but Ron still didn't perform well under pressure, even though he was greatly improved from the previous year.

"Yeah, I suppose." They paused for a moment to let a stairway move into position and began trudging down. "Well, as long as we have some extra time before the match, I may as well take another look at the tail feathers on my broom. It's been pulling just a shade to the left, I think."

Harry paused on the landing. "You go on ahead," he suggested. Ron frowned.

"If you're really going to the library, I'll go with you," he said immediately. "After all, I'm the one who got you into this."

"Don't be silly, Ron," Harry replied. "I'd have to go some time, I may as well get it over with. Won't take me a minute – you go on ahead and take care of your broom, and I'll be along right after you."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

-&--&--&--&--

Severus prowled the halls of the lower level restlessly, rounding a corner and almost walking into one of the Hufflepuffs.

"Five points from Hufflepuff for your inattention in the halls, Miss Abbott," he snapped automatically. "Why aren't you in your common room?"

"I'm on my way to the library," she said, surprisingly calmly, her wand loosely clasped in one hand. "Sir," she added belatedly.

She was, he admitted silently to himself, in a hall that was part of the direct path to the library. He wouldn't be able to demand a hall pass from her – the library didn't require them – or take any further points for being out of bounds.

"If you haven't the brains to manage the simple task of navigating to the library without causing at least one collision in the halls, it seems highly doubtful that you will absorb enough once there to justify the trip," he retorted instead.

"Just so," she agreed lazily.

Severus stared at her.

"Sir," she added again, then strode off in the direction of the library.

The encounter puzzled him, and he worried it over in the back of his mind as he continued to stalk the halls. The Hufflepuffs tended to be more afraid of him than any other house. The Abbott girl had been nearly as bad as Longbottom in Potions – thank god he hadn't had to put up with either of them in class this year. He wondered what the Abbott girl was studying now instead, but she hadn't been carrying any –

_Oh, bloody hell!_

Severus had activated his talisman and pulled out his own wand long before he actually reached the library.

-&--&--&--&--

A/N – Okay, I'm giving up on guessing when the next part will be done as I don't seem to be very good at it, but I promise I haven't stopped writing! If you want to encourage me, feedback is always appreciated. ;-)


	24. Changes over Time

A/N – A fairly long post-holiday chapter to start off the new year, with thanks to all of my reviewers. I try not to spend _too_ much space in long lists of shout-outs or author's notes which mess up the word count (I hate clicking on what I think is going to be a nice long chapter and finding that most of it is made up of messages to reviewers), but I did want to say a special thank you to Kailin and Uremia, my most reliable reviewers who have been wonderfully consistent in their encouragement, and to Uberwaldean for a lovely compliment – which also happened to remind me that I had better get this finished before book six is published!

And now I suppose you'd like to get back to the library ...

- > > > > > > >

In spite of the proximity of finals, the library was nearly deserted when Harry arrived and he strongly suspected that most of the other students had felt, as Ron had, that they ought to be allowed to enjoy the Quidditch Cup finals, and there was really no point in trying to get much accomplished beforehand. Most of the other Quidditch matches during the year had been scheduled for later in the day, and it occurred to Harry that the early start time of this one might have been deliberate. If the match didn't take too long, the students would have more time later to resume their revising.

Of course, that would only happen if someone – preferably Harry – caught the Snitch.

Harry was mentally reviewing his strategy for the upcoming game as he tried to quickly locate the reference Hermione had mentioned. The sooner he found it, the sooner he could get down to the changing rooms.

There was nothing in the sight of Hannah Abbott – a Hufflepuff prefect whom Harry had known as a member of the DA even before she started dating Neville – walking up the aisle to alarm him.

Accordingly, Harry was completely unprepared for what happened next.

- > > > > > > > > >

Severus got to the library just in time to see what appeared to be Hannah Abbott attacking someone hidden from view in the stacks.

_"Expelliaramus!"_

He didn't bother to try to catch the wand flying toward him, but followed up with binding cords instead.

"Severus, what –?" Minerva was panting slightly as she hurried up behind him.

"She was attacking someone in the stacks," he informed her coolly. "You'd better have a look." He approached the bound figure smoothly, concentrating his attention on her and keeping his wand at the ready. Let Minerva play the ministering angel.

"A member of the faculty using binding cords on a _student_?" the figure of the Hufflepuff prefect drawled with remarkable poise. "What _is_ this school coming to?"

"If that is, in fact, what has occurred," he parried, watching her eyes closely and taking some satisfaction in her reaction. Most people would have missed the nearly infinitesimal signs of alarm – a very slight widening of the eyes, an almost undetectable enlargement of the pupils – and been deceived by her apparent composure.

Severus was not.

Another way in which he was not part of the popular majority –

"_Legilimens,"_ he muttered.

His satisfaction in confirming that he was correct made up for his mild distaste for what he found. He'd been in worse minds, of course. Hers was relatively uninteresting – the usual banalities. None of the perversions of thought that fascinating Severus at least as much as they revolted him – but no elegance of intellect either. Just a rather stupid young woman who thought she'd found a clever way to make a name for herself.

"Severus?" The Headmaster was frowning as he joined what was quickly becoming an assembly.

"Her name is Elspeth Murraytrench," Severus told him, watching Hannah Abbott's face crumple. "I believe Miss Abbott is unconscious in one of the storage rooms under Astronomy Tower." He heard Albus' quickly indrawn breath as the Headmaster looked past him and into the stacks.

"Harry?" he whispered.

- > > > > > > >

Alex had not expected to be woken up by the sound of Remus swearing.

It took her a moment to gather herself – she had slept unexpectedly well – enough to piece together what was happening. Remus' talisman had been activated, and Remus himself was now frantically scrabbling for clothes and looking unusually flustered.

He caught sight of her blinking the sleep out of her eyes, and winced visibly. "Sorry," he told Alex, shamefaced. "It's just – "

"Don't worry about it," she told him, more amused than upset.

"Something's happened to Harry," he explained quickly. "He wasn't seriously hurt, but I have to get to the school."

"It's fine, I can let myself out."

Remus paused for a moment, still holding a shoe in one hand.

"Do you have to?" he asked wistfully, and Alex quirked an eyebrow up in inquiry. "You were planning to come over today anyway," he said persuasively. "And there's plenty of – oh, _damn! _I was going to bring you breakfast in bed," he finished irritably. He glared at his shoe as if it had insulted him before dropping it on the floor and shoving his foot into it.

Alex pressed her lips firmly together for a moment to repress an incipient case of the giggles.

"Can't you stay? At least for a while?" The look in his eyes as he asked made it utterly impossible to say 'no' to him.

"All right," she heard herself agreeing. "If you don't mind my hanging out while you're not here," she managed to tack on belatedly.

Remus shook his head swiftly, kissed her briefly but with surprising force, and disappeared.

- > > > > > > >

Harry heard vague fragments of conversation around him, but it seemed to be coming from a very long distance away, and at first he couldn't quite muster up the energy – or the interest – to open his eyes. Fear niggled in the back of his mind – _something_ was wrong, but he couldn't quite remember what it was.

One of the voices sounded like Remus, and Harry knew he ought to recognize the other, but he couldn't think why. He wasn't quite sure that he _had _woken up until he actually opened his eyes in the infirmary.

"Not _again_," he muttered, and someone chuckled.

"I assume that means you're not exactly partial to the idea of waking up in the infirmary," Remus' voice said with dry humor. Harry turned his head and saw that Remus was standing at his bedside.

"Not exactly," Harry admitted.

"Shall we move on to the 'How are you feeling?' part of the ritual, or would you prefer to take care of the 'What happened?' part first?" Remus asked with a twinkle in his amber eyes that elicited an answering smile – albeit a rather weak one – from Harry.

"Actually, I'd like some water." Harry's mouth was dry, and there was a strange taste in the back of his throat.

"Can you sit up?" Remus asked, pouring him a glass from the carafe on a nearby table. Harry nodded and pulled himself up, accepting the water gratefully. Remus watched him with interest, but it didn't get Harry's back up the way Madam Pomfrey's fussing did sometimes. The last time he had been hurt she kept looking at him and shaking her head in disapproval. And really, except for the bad taste in his mouth, this wasn't that bad. He was a little muzzy, but that was passing off quickly.

"I suspect we may know more about what happened than you do," Remus continued. "Hannah Abbott was found unconscious, with some of her hair missing," he explained.

"Polyjuice?" Harry guessed, and Remus nodded. "I vaguely remember noticing her in the library, but I really wasn't paying attention. I was just trying to find the reference I needed. Who was it really?"

"A witch named Elspeth Murraytrench. _Not_ known to the Order as a Death Eater," Remus said grimly.

Harry absorbed this as he took another swallow. "Well, it's not as though we didn't know Voldemort was recruiting," he said bitterly. "Was she planning to kill me herself, or take me to _him_?"

"The latter, we think," Remus answered calmly, and Harry was suddenly grateful for his matter-of-fact way of dealing with things. It was oddly reassuring. "Although we don't believe Voldemort was involved in planning this. Apparently it was her own idea – intended to be a surprise."

Harry snorted, and then promptly started to choke as some of the water went down the wrong way. Remus patted him kindly on the back until Harry recovered enough to speak.

"Sorry, I just – well, it was the idea of 'Harry Potter, Party Favor' that got me," he explained. "What do you get The Dark Lord who has everything?" It was a very odd thing to find funny – and perhaps a little sick – but Remus only nodded in understanding. "It's not as if he's all that interested in any normal amusements, like – " With a sudden look of horror, Harry thrust the glass back at Remus and swung his legs out of bed.

"Harry?" Remus questioned, accepting the glass but looking mildly confused.

"The_ Cup!_" Harry explained, sliding off the bed and kneeling to look for his shoes. Why did they have to take his shoes off anyway? He hadn't broken a foot.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" Madame Pomfrey demanded, bustling over disapprovingly. Harry glanced up and saw that she had detached herself from a cluster of people hovering at another bed at the other end of the infirmary. He recognized the Headmaster and a few of his professors – McGonagall, Snape, and Sprout – although he couldn't see who was in the other bed.

"I _think _I'm trying to find my shoes," he retorted. "What happened to them?"

"Your shoes are just where they should be," she told him firmly, "in the wardrobe."

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully, standing up and circling the bed to get to the wardrobe on the other side.

"I did _not_ mean that you were free to –" Madam Pomfrey objected.

"Well, Harry, you seem to be up and about," the Headmaster said, inserting himself into the conversation. He was regarding Harry's efforts to re-shoe himself with his usual calm air as Professors McGonagall and Snape looked over at the growing group at Harry's end of the infirmary and started to make their way toward it.

"He isn't supposed to be," Madam Pomfrey pointed out acerbically. "I haven't given him clearance yet."

"I'm _fine_," Harry insisted, "but it's the finals for the Cup today!"

Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue, but she didn't actually say he wasn't fit to play. And really, Harry felt fine.

"Poppy, could you check and see how Miss Abbott is doing?" Dumbledore suggested. He was regarding Harry with an unreadable expression, and Harry – still holding a shoe in his hand – had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Have we – did we have to forfeit?" he demanded grimly, feeling that he should know the worst.

"I believe that the match was just about to start, although not until I've arrived, of course," the Headmaster replied evenly. Harry's breath, which had been caught tightly in his chest, was freed by this simple statement, and he sat down on a chair to lace up his shoes. "However," Dumbledore continued with none of the twinkle in his eye that Harry had associated with the Headmaster in his earlier years at the school, "I think it would be prudent, under the circumstances, to cancel – or at least postpone – the match until we are confident that it can proceed safely."

Harry's jaw set, and he finished lacing his trainers with a decisive jerk.

"No," he said flatly.

The Headmaster gave a very small sigh, and straightened his shoulders slightly. "_Harry_," he began, in an oddly pleading tone that irrationally irritated its object, "I think that –"

"I said _no_," Harry repeated, shooting out of the chair and facing him tensely. He hadn't realized that he had grown as tall as the Headmaster, but now that he was standing, Harry saw that their eyes were of a level.

"_Mister Potter_," Professor McGonagall interjected, her mouth tightening to a narrow line, "mind your tone when – " Dumbledore – his eyes still fixed on Harry – cut her off with a brief gesture of a single hand.

"Harry, I thought that the measures we had taken to protect the school would be more effective than they appear to be in light of –"

"So now I'm in danger? What else is new?" Harry interrupted rudely. "I don't see the point in keeping me off the Quidditch pitch just because I was attacked in the _library_." He was aware of Remus frowning now, and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to at least _appear _to hang on to his already shaky temper.

"The _point_, Mister Potter," Snape sneered at him down the length of his nose, "is that we are trying to keep your worthless and ungrateful little self _alive_."

Harry opened his mouth to reply that Snape only wanted to make sure Gryffindor didn't win the Cup, but the warning in Remus' eyes restrained him just long enough for Harry to think.

_Snape **wants** me to lose my temper and say something nasty to him, _Harry realized suddenly. _But I'm the one who will look bad if I do, no matter how much he provoked me. _He took another deep breath, and, resolutely ignoring Snape, focused his attention on the Headmaster.

"I'm not trying to be brave – or stupid – and I don't want to die," he said instead, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore and his voice low, although he couldn't quite manage to keep it perfectly steady. "But I haven't heard anyone suggest that an attack at the Quidditch match this morning is any more likely than an attack at any other time and place, and it isn't keeping me _alive_ to keep me locked up and never allowed to do anything just so you can think I'm _safe_. I don't know what that is, but it isn't _living_. And it isn't what I want." The expression in Dumbledore's eyes hurt his chest, but Harry – somehow certain that he _had _to – stood his ground. He was aware of Remus circling the bed to stand behind him as he faced the Headmaster.

No one spoke for a long moment.

"Perhaps we should discuss this privately before we make a decision," Professor McGonagall said weakly. Harry thought there might have been tears in her eyes, but it could have been a glint of light off her spectacles.

"Harry is entitled to participate in any future discussions concerning what's best for him," his father's friend interjected, his normally mild voice surprisingly firm. Harry felt Remus' hand touch the small of his back in an unseen gesture of support. "He's old enough now."

"Yes," the Headmaster agreed painfully, although he was smiling sadly as he did so, "I suppose he is." Then he straightened his shoulders. "You're sure this is what you want?" he asked Harry one last time, and when Harry nodded he turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, could you let them know that the match will be starting a little late? I'll be along shortly."

"We'll need to make a brief detour, but we'll be along directly," Remus said quietly, watching as first Snape and then Dumbledore followed Professor McGonagall out in silence. "Harry, are you all right?" he asked as soon as the door closed behind the Headmaster.

Harry – who was wondering why most of the stiffening seemed to have gone out of his knees – nodded dumbly. Remus took another, keener look at him, and then took his arm firmly before heading out the door. Harry walked along with him blindly, realizing after a few moments that they were headed for Gryffindor.

"We're going back to the common room?" he asked, puzzled. Remus nodded.

"I assumed that you kept James' Cloak in your room," he said casually, "and I wanted to borrow it to watch the match. Unless, of course, you'd like to order me away – I would hate to cause offense." Remus' tone was so matter-of-fact – and Harry was so occupied with processing what had just happened – that Harry almost missed the faint, dry undertone to the last sentence and the droll look that let him know Remus was teasing him.

"No, I – would you really like to?" Harry asked wistfully, and found comfort in Remus' gently affectionate look in return.

"Yes, Harry, I really would."

- > > > > > > >

Alex was decidedly reluctant to leave Remus' bed, even in his absence – an illogical feeling that she found rather unnerving. It certainly didn't make any _sense_ to just lie there indefinitely – she ought to get up and dress and such, even if she wasn't going anywhere just yet. It was one thing to spend the day in bed when you were ill – which she wasn't – or if Remus had been there – which he wasn't – but there really wasn't much of an excuse to indulge herself otherwise. So she forced herself to stand up, and smooth out the bedding, and generally restore his bed to order, but she couldn't help beaming fondly at his pillow and giving it an extra little pat after she plumped it.

She resolved a short internal debate in favor of a quick shower before turning her attention to the question of breakfast. They seemed to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, and by now she knew where he kept things, so she was fairly comfortable scrambling herself an egg and confident that he wouldn't mind if she snagged an apple.

When she had cleaned the dishes and returned them to their proper places, she looked at the clock and sighed. Presumably Harry had been hurt in the Quidditch Cup finals – what sort of sports injury did a person get in a game that involved dodging enchanted missiles while flying on a broom? – since she would have known about anything else, but she couldn't help wondering how long Remus was going to be.

After prowling restlessly for a while, she settled down with a book in the study to await his return.

- > > > > > > >

Remus, knowing that he had talked Alex into waiting for him at home, was not quite as wholeheartedly enthusiastic about watching the Quidditch Cup finals as he might have been otherwise, but he carefully avoided letting this become apparent to Harry. The young man was more shaken by the events of the morning than he knew – not the attack, which Harry seemed to have shrugged off with troubling ease, but his confrontation with the Headmaster.

All of them – with the possible exception of Harry – had known what they were witnessing; Harry had changed from a boy to a man right in front of their eyes. It had nothing to do with shaving, or having passed through the requisite number of growth spurts, or completing certain educational milestones. It had everything to do with the way Harry had handled himself – not as a fractious child or rebellious teenager, but as a young man asserting his natural right to take responsibility for his own choices. As much as all of them – well, perhaps not Severus quite as much as the rest – wanted to protect Harry, it wasn't going to be possible to do that forever.

Even if it had been possible, it wouldn't have been _right_.

And Harry had stood up to Dumbledore, looked him straight in the eye, and told him so.

_Lily would have been so proud – _

Immediately after this thought popped into his head, Remus wondered why _Lily_ had come to mind rather than James or Sirius. He considered the question as he watched Harry fly from a spot beneath one of the stands, carefully chosen to give him a good view of the full pitch, and finally decided it was because Lily would best have understood the emotional significance this would have for Harry. James and Sirius would have been proud of him too, of course, but they wouldn't have understood what had happened in quite the same way.

On the other hand, James and Sirius would have done a much better job appreciating Harry's talent for Quidditch – Remus liked the sport well enough, and had learned more about the subtleties of the game than he would have expected simply because he had spent so much time with the pair of them, but he had never been mad for it the way they had been.

He suddenly felt frighteningly inadequate.

Harry should have had so much more –

James and Lily as _real_ parents and not just captions to a few photographs. Sirius as his doting and mischievous godfather to tell him all the stories about his father's prankster past that James didn't want his son to hear, and to give Harry his first real broom _much _too early for Lily's peace of mind.

_And I would have been just an old friend of his father's who came to visit from time to time –_

There was a deafening roar as Harry finally caught the Snitch.

Carefully concealed beneath James' Cloak, Remus wished he could join in – but then, he wasn't supposed to be there.

- > > > > > > >

When Harry had finally arrived, panting a bit, to change for the start of the match, the rest of the team looked like they were ready to bite nails – or perhaps even Hagrid's rock cakes, which were undoubtedly much harder.

"Sorry, I know," he had apologized immediately, holding up a hand to ward off what he knew would be an avalanche of recriminations. "_Not_ my fault – I was attacked on the way and only just got out of the infirmary."

Ron's obvious anger as Harry came in had changed immediately to concern. "Attacked?"

Harry had just nodded. "I can still play, though, now that Dumbledore's letting us go on with the match," he assured him as he shrugged out of his robes. Ginny had given Harry a very strange look then as she handed him his Quidditch robes before turning away to pick up her broom again.

"Dumbledore was going to cancel the match?" Ron demanded, his freckles prominent once again. Harry had hastily arranged his Quidditch robes and picked up his own broom.

"Later," was all he said, and then they were being announced.

It would have been nice to catch the Snitch in the first few minutes of the game, but it simply didn't happen that way. The match was a hard-fought one, with first Ravenclaw taking the lead and then Gryffindor – but neither side by enough to win without the Snitch.

After Harry finally caught it, there was cheering, and a celebratory commotion that kept him out of the changing room for quite some time. When the throng of well-wishers settled down enough to let the Gryffindor team into the changing rooms, there was still no opportunity for Harry to talk to Ron. Their house mates kept wandering in to congratulate them, or offer them bottles of butterbeer or other treats (Harry and Ron were much too conscious of the success of the twins' subscription program to accept any of the latter), or tell them that there was going to be a party in the common room (as if they didn't know) and ask when they would get there. It was all very well meant, but still a bit maddening.

Eventually, in desperation, Harry caught the arm of Seamus – one of their room mates – and asked for help.

"Is there any way you can help clear some of this crowd out?" Harry begged. "I still need to shower and change, and everyone just –"

Seamus shot him an amused glance, but tried to help anyway.

"Come on, fellow Gryffindors, let's all head up to the common room and break out the butterbeer," he urged in a loud – and cheerful – voice. "We should all be waiting to 'hail the conquering heroes' and we can't do that if we don't get up there!" Seamus' good natured prodding prompted a general exodus, and then it was only a matter of rounding up and expelling the stragglers.

Harry – mindful of the fact that Remus was probably still around somewhere, patiently waiting for a safe opportunity to return the Cloak – ducked in to the boys' shower for a hasty wash-up without waiting for the last of the stragglers to leave.

"There you are, Harry," Ron, his face still glowing with sheer elation, greeted him when he returned. "You were _brilliant_! The whole _team_ was brilliant!" Ron seemed to have forgotten Harry's earlier tardiness, or the fact that he had been attacked, or that the match might have been cancelled. Harry just grinned at his best friend.

"Yeah, we were," he agreed cheerfully. Ron's happiness was contagious. "And you had a great save when we were tied at fifty," he offered. Ron looked bashfully pleased.

"I think Hermione got a good view of that one," the red-head confided. "I looked over at the stands right after, and she was right there in the front corner, clapping her hands and cheering."

Harry laughed. "Why don't you get showered and changed so we can get up there?" he suggested, and Ron departed with a grin, leaving Harry alone in the changing room.

Well, not quite.

"Nice game, Harry," Remus told him as he emerged from under the Cloak.

"Pretty good – and we won – but not one of my best," Harry said fairly, as Remus took a seat on the bench beside him.

"They can't _all_ be the best," Remus pointed out, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose not," Harry agreed, but then his smile dimmed a little. "About what happened in the infirmary this morning –"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I – I hurt him, didn't I?" It came out in a rush, and not really as a question.

"Not intentionally," Remus replied calmly.

"I didn't _want_ to, but – it just felt like I _had_ to," he continued, feeling like it was very inadequate as an explanation.

"I understand Harry, and so does he, I promise."

Harry raised anguished eyes to meet the sympathetic amber ones of his former professor. "But I did before," he blurted out. "Right after Sirius died – I was angry, and I wanted to hurt him, and he _knew_! But I _didn't_ this time, _really_ I didn't!" It seemed like a horrible thing to confess, but Remus still wasn't looking at him with the disgust he expected, which was doing a great deal to ease his mind.

"He knows that, Harry. We all do."

"Even Snape?" Harry asked wryly, surprised that he was able to joke about it. Remus appeared to consider this for a moment.

"Maybe I shouldn't speak for _him_," he said at last, and in such a droll tone that Harry was able to smile again in response. "Harry, what happened this morning had more to do with you than with anyone else – Professor Dumbledore or even Sirius. You don't have to feel guilty about standing up for yourself, you know."

"He's done so much for me, it just felt – even when I was really angry with him before, it wasn't like _this_."

Remus hesitated then, and Harry had the sense that he was choosing his words very carefully before he replied.

"You don't have to be that careful with my feelings," Harry told him bluntly. "If I really messed this up, you might as well just tell me."

"You didn't mess anything up, Harry," Remus said immediately, before looking at him a bit apologetically. "The reason it was hard was that it was a _bit_ like renouncing a parent," he explained, "although I'm not sure you really want to hear that and the analogy certainly isn't intended to imply any disrespect to anyone else. We all know he isn't a parent to you, but he _has _been a protective figure in your life, and today you told him you don't need that protection any more. That's fundamentally different from being angry with him, and he recognized that. It wasn't easy for either of you, but if you felt it had to be done, then it was time."

"I – I didn't realize," Harry said at last, feeling much worse again. "I had no idea –"

"It's one of those things no one really understands at the time they're doing it," Remus told him calmly. He reached over to pat Harry on the back sympathetically. "Try not to worry about it too much. It doesn't mean that he stopped caring for you, it's just a change in your relationship that's a perfectly normal part of growing up." He regarded Harry's downcast expression keenly. "It might help to remember that there's nothing unusual in asking an older adult you respect for advice or assistance – plenty of people a lot older than you are do it all the time. If you really feel you need to make up with him for some reason, you might look for an opportunity to ask him for help. It would show that you still value his opinion even though you're making your own decisions now."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, perking up a bit. "I could do that." He couldn't think of anything he really needed at the moment – and he couldn't ever remember really asking for advice from anyone other than his godfather – but he had the sense that this was supposed to be a gesture, so it didn't have to be anything huge. If he kept his eyes open, he ought to be able to come up with _something_. "Thanks, Remus."

- > > > > > > >

Alex was vaguely aware that her pillow was not behaving properly. She had been pushing at it absently, but it wasn't shifting the way she expected.

"Darling, I'm fairly sure that if you keep moving your hands around on my lap like that, it is _not_ going to get any softer."

Alex opened her eyes. Remus, whose expression was amused, was looking down at her, a book – the book she'd been reading before – open in one hand. Her head was pillowed on his lap, which meant that her hands had been –

"Sorry," she apologized immediately, sitting up quickly and hoping she wasn't blushing. She was _much_ too old to blush.

"Oh, I wasn't _objecting_," Remus said easily. "I just wasn't sure that was the effect you meant to produce. And good morning." He didn't have to lean very far to kiss her, with an assured warmth that she responded to wholly by instinct. He only paused long enough to add, "Also good afternoon," before he kissed her again.

"Is it afternoon already?" she managed at last, deciding that there really wasn't any reason she had to pull away from him just to speak. At some point, she must have slipped an arm around him because she was aware of the press of the sofa against it when he leaned back, but his own arms were around her, and their overall position was very satisfying.

"I'm afraid so," he apologized. "I didn't think I would be gone as long as I was. I'm very sorry, but thank you for staying."

"I fell asleep," Alex realized – and announced – with some surprise.

"Mmm, so you did," Remus agreed gently, drawing back a little to meet her eyes, his own warm with concern. "You must have been tired."

"Or having a lazy Saturday afternoon," she parried lightly before changing the subject. "How was Harry? I was trying to imagine what sort of injuries Quidditch produces, but I'm not sure my imagination is up to the task," she said in a teasing tone.

"Harry was fine in the game – Gryffindor won, by the way – but he was still a little upset about some things, so I thought I better stick around. I hope you don't mind."

Alex frowned. "Remus, what happened?"

"An adult witch used Polyjuice potion to impersonate one of the students and attack Harry in the library," he told her succinctly. "Harry wasn't seriously hurt – Severus realized there was something wrong and got there in time to stop her – but Dumbledore was a bit shaken and wanted to cancel the match. Harry refused to let him, which is why _he_ was upset and – Alex, what's wrong?"

Alex, her mind racing, struggled with what to tell him. "I – Remus, I didn't know anything about this," she told him tersely. "I assumed that Harry got hit by one of those enchanted balls, or, or knocked off his broom or something," she explained. "There was _nothing_ about this in _any_ of the memories!"

Remus frowned, his arms tightening a little around her. "Maybe it wasn't important enough to include," he suggested slowly. "Harry really wasn't hurt very badly after all." Alex shook her head.

"He wasn't hurt last summer when Dudley tricked him into missing the bus home," she argued, "but I knew about _that_."

"You – the bicycle?" he asked, and Alex nodded impatiently.

"Yes, but the point is that I _knew_. He was missing a little longer the first time, but he wasn't hurt at _all_. It wasn't one of the critical incidents – I didn't bother to give it to your Albus, didn't even really _remember_ it until I saw him that night – but it was about Harry, and I _knew._ A sports injury is so normal, I could understand him leaving it out, but _this _– "

"Which means it probably didn't happen," Remus concluded aloud.

_Oh, god, did I cause this? How could I? But Albus warned me – _

"One incident does not make a pattern," he continued reasonably. "There's no reason to attach too much significance to this just yet – and alternative universes are alternates for a reason. There are supposed to be some differences in them to begin with; it doesn't have to be result of anything you've done."

"I suppose that's _possible_," Alex conceded – but in spite of this concession and even though she allowed Remus to change the subject, she wasn't really convinced.

- > > > > > >

Remus could tell that Alex wasn't quite satisfied with his explanation of why she hadn't known about the attack on Harry, but after that first conversation when he returned from Hogwarts, she seemed to set that concern aside. There probably wasn't much that either of them could do about it anyway – if Alex _had_ done something to affect the timeline in a way that inadvertently caused the attack on Harry, it was already done, and there was no point in getting upset about it. She certainly hadn't _meant_ to do such a thing, and Harry hadn't even been badly injured – although Remus still didn't see why she had to bear the full weight of responsibility for it even if Harry had been more seriously hurt. It wasn't as if she had attacked the younger man herself, although Remus was shrewd enough to realize that Alex would probably _feel_ as if she had.

Remus himself was also a little worried – mostly about how Harry was doing – but he was surprised at how easily he was able to immerse himself in the sheer joy of spending time with Alex. It wasn't merely the actual pleasure of making love with her, but the simple knowledge that he didn't have to conceal – or control – the effect she had on him proved to be strangely relaxing. In a number of ways, the rest of Saturday was fairly typical of many other Saturdays that had spent together; they spent a lot of time talking – frequently about books – and they played a few more games. Remus won their chess match that night, but Alex beat him in the new variation of Settlers they created together. Remus made a simple supper for them to share while Alex set the table. They talked some more after supper in the study before heading up to bed.

Well, that part was different.

Their lovemaking was more leisurely this time, and afterwards Alex drifted off to sleep without having to be persuaded to stay.

Remus still hadn't bothered to enlarge the bed.


	25. Realignment

The sight of Professor Lupin sitting and talking to Harry had reminded Ron, albeit a little belatedly, of the attack Harry had mentioned before the start of the match, and Harry had filled him in before they arrived back in the common room and were swallowed up in the wave of excitement surrounding the Gryffindor win. There was a great deal of food, and noise, and toasting, and everyone seemed determined to have a good time. To everyone's surprise, Hermione – normally so conscientious about her duties as a prefect – didn't try to quell the uproar even as the time for the evening meal approached, and at some point in the proceedings, it occurred to Harry that everyone was a little _too _determined to have a good time. The partying had a bit of a frantic edge to it, and as Harry was watching one of Colin's classmates cavorting on top of a tea table he had enchanted to rise and fall in time with the music, he realized why. The boy in question had lost someone – an uncle, he thought – like so many other students, and while everyone appeared to be having a good time, there was a desperate quality to the gaiety that made perfect sense when you considered the events of the past year.

If Harry had ever been in the mood for a party, he wasn't any longer.

He set his butterbeer down, signaled his intentions silently to Ron, who was dancing with Hermione at the time, and headed upstairs to the relative sanctuary of their room.

"Harry?" Neville's still-round face was anxious as he came into the room where Harry was now lying on top of his bed, thinking of nothing in particular.

"Yeah?"

Neville looked so nervous and upset as he approached that Harry promptly sat up to look at him.

"Hannah's _really_ sorry," the other boy told him bravely, and Harry realized guiltily that he hadn't given her a single thought since he'd left the infirmary.

"What?" he said stupidly.

"She was attacked from behind – she never even _saw_ the witch who did it," Neville continued, "but if she had seen, and stopped her – well, she wouldn't have been able to sneak up on you later 'cause she wouldn't have had Hannah's hair for the potion. And after you were so great about giving all of us defense lessons last year, and – well, Hannah wanted you to know that she's really sorry."

Harry had swung his legs off the bed during this remarkable speech, and now he stood up to go over to stand before Neville, who had come to a halt when he was still several feet away.

"Neville, I know that _none _of this Hannah's fault," Harry told him firmly. "If that witch hadn't used Hannah's hair, she would have used some from another student. Or even a _teacher_. And she could have taken some from somebody's hairbrush or something – Hannah had absolutely nothing to do with this. It never even occurred to me that anyone could think that."

Neville tottered over to his own bed and sank down on it as though his legs might not hold him up if he kept standing.

"Neville – " Harry stood there with all the awkwardness of a teenage boy and tried to figure out what to do.

Then he realized that he knew what Remus would have done, so he went over, took a seat next to Neville, and patted him – a little awkwardly – on the back.

"I'm really sorry that happened to Hannah," Harry told him. "And I hope she feels better soon. How is she doing?"

"They let her go back to her dorm," Neville informed him, perking up a little. "Her parents were here, though, and – Harry, they wanted to take her _home_ – even with the year almost done and examinations starting next week. Dumbledore said he would make arrangements so she could finish the year without having to be here – but Hannah said she wouldn't! She said everyone else was staying here and she wasn't going to leave, and then her parents finally said she could stay." Neville sighed then. "But that doesn't mean they'll let her come back next year – they didn't say anything about it yet, but that doesn't mean they won't."

It had never occurred to Harry that a parent – other than one of the Dursleys, or someone like that – might not want their child to go to Hogwarts. The school was supposed to be one of the safest places in the world – sure, the students got hurt sometimes, and they had every reason to worry about a Death Eater attacking their daughter, but that could have happened _anywhere_! If this was the only incident at Hogwarts – and with all the news lately about witches and wizards and Muggles being attacked in all sorts of other places – well, then the school was still much safer than anywhere else.

One would not have thought the school was still relatively safe from the hysterical tone of the article the following day in _The Daily Prophet_.

"_Death Eaters at Hogwarts_ – _some might question the wisdom of entrusting our most precious resource to a wizard who has arguably passed his prime_ –" Hermione snorted and threw the paper down scornfully. "All the attacks we've had so far in other places where people actually _died_ and _The Daily Prophet_ has to get hysterical about one little incident here in which no one was even seriously hurt." It didn't occur to Harry that they were all glossing over his brief spell of unconsciousness. "And Professor Dumbledore has done a much better job of protecting Hogwarts than the Ministry has protecting anywhere else."

"Hermione, why do you read that when you know it's going to make you upset?" Ron asked.

"Because I want to know what they're saying," she told him calmly as she served herself another rasher of bacon. Ron looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes.

"Hannah apologized for letting her hair be used," Harry told them abruptly. "Neville said she was really upset about it."

"It's not _her_ fault," Hermione said immediately, glancing over at the Hufflepuff table with concern. "If they hadn't used hers, they would have managed to get someone else's; it's not as if she offered it."

"Yeah, that's what I told Neville."

"Have you told Hannah?"

Harry shook his head. "Haven't had a chance. Do you think I should?"

"Yes," Hermione said thoughtfully. "We're going to need all the allies we can get."

"_Allies_?" Harry said blankly, exchanging a startled glance with Ron. "I just wondered if I ought to try and make sure she knows I'm not mad at her. If anything, she ought to be mad at me. The only reason she was attacked at all was to get to me," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied placidly, but Ron, who was frowning, cut her off as she opened her mouth to continue.

"It's not Harry's fault," he interjected firmly.

"Yes, Ron, I know that too," his girlfriend told him patiently. "But there's no point in pretending she wasn't attacked to get to Harry when we know she was. That doesn't make it his fault any more than it was hers, but it's still the reality of the situation." She turned her cool brown eyes to Harry again. "And we do need to start thinking about allies – people we can trust to help us when we need help – and some of those should be from outside Gryffindor if possible. Hannah was active in the DA, besides dating Neville, and this attack should give her an additional incentive to help in the fight against Voldemort."

Harry and Ron were both regarding her with wide-eyed astonishment. Around them, the level of general bustle began to increase as students who had finished their breakfasts began to leave the Great Hall.

"Hermione, don't you think that's a little – " Ron struggled for an appropriate word.

"Calculating?" she supplied dryly. "_Somebody_ needs to start thinking about this stuff." She was looking at Harry very directly as she said this. "At some point, you're going to need more help than Ron and I can give you – or something might happen to one of us. You've got to have some idea of who else can be trusted, and part of that means thinking about who is likely to be trustworthy. I'm sorry if you think that's a cold-blooded way of looking at it, but it still needs to be done."

"But isn't that what the – er – " Ron managed to stop himself before he actually named the Order in the middle of the Great Hall. "Aren't there other people worrying about this stuff?" he asked carefully.

_Peter Pettigrew was in the Order._

"Hermione's right," Harry said flatly. "We need to start thinking about who's on our side, and we can't rely on anyone else to do that. No matter who might be trying to help, I'm still a key figure in this," he pointed out, leaving unspoken the fact that he was the one who had to kill Voldemort, although he could tell that both of them understood immediately.

Hermione was regarding him with regretful approval, but Ron's eyes were very grave.

-----

Now that Severus actually _wanted_ to speak privately with the Headmaster, it took him some time to manage it. Oh, he could have done it more quickly by using the talisman to signal him, but honesty impelled him to refrain. It wasn't actually an emergency, and he didn't know anything unknown to the Headmaster, but the situation certainly warranted further discussion – discussion that couldn't take place during a regular meeting of the Order without giving away more information than was prudent.

Just because Severus didn't appreciate not being kept fully informed by the Headmaster didn't mean that he thought everyone else in the Order was equally deserving of such trust.

So he gritted his teeth and sat through _another_ blasted Quidditch match – which produced _another _blasted Gryffindor victory – thanks to Potter catching the Snitch _again_. When he went to track the Headmaster down immediately after the match, he found Dumbledore with the parents of that incompetent Hufflepuff girl and had to go away again. After dinner, Severus himself was tied up with patrol duty and lost his best chance of catching the Headmaster that evening. The following day, there was a really irritating article in _The Daily Prophet_ which produced owls from parents that had to be dealt with, if not by the Headmaster himself than by the appropriate Head of House.

"Pritchard was the last," Severus said flatly. "I just sent the return owl back to his mother. Unless there are any more?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "Not yet – I think we're caught up at the moment. Pomona's still working on hers, but she had the most to deal with."

Severus got straight to the point. "Why didn't we know about this latest attack on Potter?"

"I don't know," was the equable reply.

"You _don't know_?"

"There are a number of possibilities, of course. The most likely are that this is due to a difference that already existed between the two universes, or that it is the result – however remotely – of a later change."

Severus glared.

"It is also quite possible that the source of our information is _unreliable_," he bit out, wondering why the Headmaster persisted in believing the best of people despite evidence to the contrary.

"I have the utmost faith in the information Alex provided, and it has proved to be very useful," the Headmaster replied calmly. Then just as Severus was about to protest, he continued, "But I agree with you, of course."

Severus stared at him. "You – _agree_ with me?"

The Headmaster raised his snow white brows and peered over his glasses at the younger man. "Certainly. Why do you think I have allowed you to continue your work?" he asked rhetorically. "If we could be confident that there were no significant differences between the timelines originally, and that nothing would happen to affect them, it would be a different matter – although I'm not sure that such a situation is possible. So the source of our information has always been 'unreliable' in some sense; because of the possibility of such differences in the timelines, we have _never_ been able to assume that we knew everything we needed to know already."

Severus absorbed this in silence.

It wasn't at all what he had meant, but the Headmaster's explanation of something so perfectly obvious had made him miserably aware of his own incompetence, for it hadn't occurred to him before.

It should have.

"I don't think I've had a chance to thank you for your quick action yesterday," the Headmaster was saying. "If you hadn't realized that there was something off about Hannah's behavior, the situation could have turned out very differently. It was very well done, Severus. I'm quite proud of you, as well as being very grateful."

And Severus – who was all too aware that he had managed to miss something that should have been evident with two seconds of thought on his part – listened to the Headmaster praise him for saving Potter feeling like a hypocrite and wondering what he could possibly say in response.

-----

**_Later_**

Trying to track Hermione down during examinations was not that hard – Crookshanks obligingly led Alex right to her the first evening she came by. She was sitting at a table surrounded by piles of books that nearly obscured her from view. Alex thought about meowing to get her attention, but the room – though surprisingly quiet – was rather crowded, and she really didn't want to attract that much notice. Carefully judging the distance – she was getting better at this – she sprang neatly up on to the table instead.

"What – " Hermione looked up from her notes, and promptly closed her mouth.

Alex settled back on her haunches and looked at her meaningfully.

"Er, I need to run upstairs for a little while," Hermione said vaguely to Ron and Harry. "Back in a bit."

Alex trotted neatly after her up to her dormitory, waiting until Hermione had shut the door and cast a Silencing Charm before she transformed.

"Is anything wrong?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I thought the next incident wasn't coming up until January?"

"It isn't," Alex confirmed, "and I'm really not sure if anything's wrong. I was hoping you could help me find out."

"Does this have something to do with the attack on Harry before the Cup?"

"Everything," Alex said succinctly. "It didn't happen."

"Oh," Hermione said. Then, as comprehension dawned, "_Oh._" Hermione appeared to be thinking furiously.

"I don't know what I could have done to cause it, but –"

"I do," the younger woman told her grimly. "You saved _me_. I'm the one who suggested Harry go to the library for more information – he would have let it go with what he had. If I hadn't been here, Harry wouldn't have been in the library. The woman who attacked him only had an hour to find him – she wasn't carrying any more Polyjuice on her – so she must have given up and left."

"Oh." This hadn't occurred to her, but she supposed it made sense. And it wasn't anything she had to feel guilty about – she had needed to save Hermione, after all. She came out of her reverie enough to note Hermione's expression. "Well, I don't see why either of us need to worry about it then," Alex told her immediately. "We know your dying was worse than what happened – oh, dear, _that _didn't come out very well –"

Hermione waved the apology away. "No, I know what you mean, and you're right. It was just a bit of a surprise, that's all. I never thought about what I did having much impact on anyone – not before I graduated, at least, when I was prepared for a proper career. But this was just such a _little_ thing – even with everything Professor McGonagall told me about time turners, I never thought something like that would make such a difference."

"You're making a difference in other ways, too," Alex pointed out. "Next year's going to be very difficult, if you'll forgive the understatement."

"I know, and I'm happy to help, but – I wish there was something more I could do. If Voldemort wins – " Hermione shuddered a little.

Alex thought for a moment. "Well, there _is_ something, but I wasn't planning to start on this one just yet – it's a good two years away, so –"

Hermione cut her off. "What is it?" she demanded.

"It's the second incident after we lose the school," Alex told her, thinking aloud, "but you will be around Neville next year, so maybe it's not a bad idea." She looked at Hermione assessingly. "Do you think you could teach him to resist an Imperius?" she asked.

"_Neville_?" the younger woman frowned. "From who?"

"Voldemort."

Hermione looked stricken. "I'll try, but – Alex, I really don't know if he could do that. Voldemort's supposed to be _really _strong, and Neville is – well, he's very _nice_, but –" she trailed off helplessly. "Is he going to hurt Harry? He would hate that. I know Neville would work _very_ hard to avoid hurting Harry."

But Alex was shaking her head. "No, Neville didn't hurt Harry," she informed Hermione immediately, "but I'm afraid that Harry had to kill him."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Alex apologized. "I shouldn't have just – "

"No, it's fine. I'd rather know, and have a chance to do something about it."

Alex grimaced and sat down on one of the empty beds, wondering if she'd screwed up by telling her this soon – and when they still had the loss of the school to worry about in the interim. Hermione was so strong in many ways – she had the rare ability to combine really _strategic _thinking with careful attention to detail (two very different skills that Alex hardly ever encountered in the same person) – that Alex was probably overestimating her in others. Hermione was a wonderful asset for any type of operational planning, but this knowledge – and the accompanying responsibility – was a horrible burden, and Alex suspected that even the small pieces of it that she had shared with the younger woman were overwhelming.

"Rather like being told you have to transfigure the entire planet without even a wand," she muttered to herself, darkly amused by the analogy.

"Trying to stop Voldemort from winning again?" Hermione guessed shrewdly. "Very true." The younger woman sighed and sat down on the bed across from Alex. "Still," she continued thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be so bad if you could do it a little bit at a time."

Alex's lips twisted in a wry half-smile. "The more interesting question is whether it would take more time than we have."

-----

A/N – Thank you very much for your reviews and your patience! This chapter is a little shorter than the last one as it really needed to break here in order for the next chapter to work out properly. The next one should be out in the not-too-distant future as it's mostly written. As always, comments – and even criticism – are greatly appreciated.


	26. The Faithful Fallen

Remus came to visit Harry on the anniversary of Sirius' death, which was on a Saturday just after the conclusion of examinations. This was a very rare 'public' visit in the sense that Remus actually walked around the school and the grounds with Harry quite openly, and they were not hiding the fact that this last surviving friend of his father and his godfather had asked for and received permission to visit Harry at school. Harry would have thought that it would be a relief not to have to hide Remus' presence, but as it turned out, having Remus walking openly through the corridors with him was not what he expected. A surprising number of other students remembered Remus from when he had taught DADA and wanted to speak with him, and none of them had the press of classes or revising to pull them away. When Remus' presence was hidden, his visits had been difficult to arrange and sometimes rushed, but they hadn't been repeatedly interrupted.

"Why don't we head out a bit further?" Remus suggested, nodding toward the far side of the lake as Derek, whom Harry had only vaguely remembered from supper during the Christmas holidays one year until the other boy had come up to speak to Remus, waved cheerfully in farewell.

"Yes, let's," Harry agreed immediately, wondering why he had never realized how crowded the grounds were during this short lull between the conclusion of examinations and the time the Hogwarts Express would arrive to take them away from school. There wasn't anything in particular he wanted to say to Remus, but he liked talking to him – well, without all the interruptions. Remus listened as if he were actually interested, but without getting upset about stupid things, which a lot of grown-ups seemed to do. Harry didn't really have any big problems at the moment – apart from the obvious – but Remus was just as ready to listen to Harry talk about small things. So Harry told Remus about his conversation with Hannah (Remus told Harry approvingly that he had handled it very well), and how he messed up the question on Golems in his last examination (Remus looked sympathetic), and what had happened when the newest product from _Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes_ had gone off in the Great Hall (Remus laughed).

"Sirius and James would have loved that one," Remus said casually, still laughing a little.

"I'm glad you don't mind talking about them," Harry told him impulsively. "Ron looks really uncomfortable whenever, well –"

"He probably just wishes he could help you somehow, and can't figure out how to do it," was the equable reply. "It's hard to deal with even if you have a lot more experience with it than Ron does. And, of course, he doesn't have the good memories I do. Thinking about them helps."

"I wish I had more," Harry confessed wistfully, and Remus put a comforting hand briefly on his back.

"So do I, Harry. It doesn't seem quite fair that I got to spend so much more time with them." Remus glanced at him in sympathetic inquiry before continuing, "Or that some of your memories didn't show them at their best," and Harry knew he was referring to the Snape incident. "They weren't just good friends, they were good _people_. James was devoted to you and your mother, and deeply committed to fighting Voldemort. It wasn't just to protect his family, though, Harry – he was fighting Voldemort because he believed it was the right thing to do, and he did it in spite of the fact that the odds were very much against us and that he might pay a very high price for his choice. So many others who could have _didn't_, you know. And Sirius – well, I'm glad you have at least some of your own memories of him, but – even after spending time at Grimmauld Place, I'm not sure you fully realize how remarkable it was that, growing up in that environment, he turned his back on it and made the choices he did. It would have been very easy for him to turn out more like – oh, Lucius Malfoy, for example. But he didn't – he fought him instead." Remus' eyes were very intent, and Harry knew that this was important to him.

"You don't have to, er –" he began awkwardly.

"I don't want you to think badly of them," Remus said simply. "I'm not trying to convince you that they were saints, or heroes – they weren't. They were just as human as any of us, but they were good and honorable men." Harry turned to look out over the lake to the castle in the distance.

"It doesn't make much sense, but the – well, the stuff I saw in the Pensieve last year – it didn't bother me as much about Sirius as it did about my dad. But then, when Sirius died – it hurt so terribly, at least at first. It's getting better, but – you would think it was losing my dad that would hurt more, but it's – different." Harry knew he wasn't expressing himself very well, but he couldn't escape the guilty feeling that something about this was wrong.

"I think it makes a great deal of sense," Remus said calmly. "Sirius was real to you in a way that James couldn't be."

They ambled along in silence for a few moments as Harry considered this.

"You probably thought it was a little strange the way Sirius and I reacted to some things." Remus was smiling reminiscently again. "About James – the way he used to play with the Snitch, and disorder his hair. When you love someone, some things that ought to annoy you – or even _do_ annoy you at the time – can be strangely endearing. You could probably think of things that irritate you about Ron and Hermione if you try, but if anything happened to either of them, well – all of those things that used to irritate you are just part of what you would miss." Harry thought first about Ron's too-short pajamas, and then about Hermione's habit of dissecting their examinations afterwards – and the moment during the Christmas holidays when he and Ron had really realized for the first time that they could have lost her. At that moment, they would have been _thrilled _to have her harping at them about their revising or commenting on the test questions as long as she was there to do it.

"I wish there had been something afterwards," Harry said abruptly after they had walked a bit further in a comfortable, desultory fashion. "I know there wasn't anything to bury, but it seems like there should have been, well, _something_. It's not fair that he just –"

"A memorial service," Remus said thoughtfully. "Would you like that?" Harry came to a sudden stop.

"Could we?"

The older man seemed to be considering it. "I don't see why not – if we're discreet about it." He seemed to make a decision. "Come with me."

Harry followed him back towards the castle, and then around the side a bit, past the greenhouses to a little area tucked around a corner of the building. Harry had never known it was there, and certainly wouldn't have noticed it normally, but there it was – a very small, but well maintained, graveyard. Remus seemed to know exactly where he was going, and came to a stop in front of a double marker in simple white stone. Harry glanced at it to see why Remus had stopped, and felt his heart skip a beat as he read the names. After a frozen moment, he stepped forward hesitantly and reached out with a shaky hand to trace the letters etched deeply into the surface.

"_This_ is where they were buried?" Harry's hand dropped to his side but he couldn't look away, even to ask Remus his questions in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me they were _here_? I always assumed that my aunt and uncle –"

Remus stepped forward to join him, putting a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. "It seemed appropriate at the time – even your aunt thought so, although not, perhaps, for the same reasons as ours. We didn't tell you before because we didn't want it to taint your experiences here. Some of our happiest times were at Hogwarts, and we hoped you would find happiness here as well. If you had arrived here knowing – well, you might have thought of this as the place your parents were buried rather than a school, and that might have spoiled it for you. Sirius and I talked about it after he came back – we would have told you when you asked, but that hadn't happened yet."

"I didn't even know there was a graveyard here," Harry said at last. The Dursleys had so effectively stopped him from asking questions about his parents that he had never even tried to ask where they were buried.

"Not many people do. It's very, very old – some of the founders are buried here – although the graveyard itself is such a small one that it was a signal honor that James and Lily were granted space. I think James would have preferred to be buried on the Quidditch pitch," Remus said drolly, "but one can't have everything! Your mother would have had a fit about that, and they're together here." His arm tightened briefly around Harry. "I thought perhaps we could add another marker to the same space, or maybe a plaque of some kind for Sirius? I think they would have liked that. Unless you have something else in mind?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I think this is just right."

- > > > > > >

As the Headmaster's permission would be needed to go ahead with this plan, Harry decided to ask for it himself, although Remus had offered to make the request at first. It wasn't quite what either of them had in mind when Remus had previously suggested that Harry make a request of Dumbledore as a way to repair their relationship – Harry wasn't asking for advice, he was asking for a favor, and the nature of the favor was such that he _had _to ask the Headmaster, so it wasn't much of a gesture to show that Harry valued Dumbledore's opinion. Still, Harry wanted to do it himself and he wanted to do it properly, so he ended up using the trip back on the Hogwarts Express to carefully compose a note with help from Ron and Hermione (more from Hermione, who also supplied fresh parchment when Harry's first attempts were spoiled) which he dispatched back to the school by letting Hedwig out the window of the train. Then he settled down to enjoy the rest of the time he had with his friends before he was forced to return to the Dursleys.

Harry found things at number four, Privet Drive, very different from what he expected.

It wasn't the way the Dursleys studiously ignored him (when they weren't casting nervous half-glances at him, as though he were an exotic and dangerous animal dropped in their midst by a keeper who assured them that they were in no danger as long as they didn't appear to see him) because he was used to this. When Harry first returned to Privet Drive, he didn't realize what had happened in his absence, and it took some time to puzzle it out – after all, the Dursleys weren't exactly in the habit of confiding in him. They were, however, in the habit of blaming Harry for anything that went wrong, so he eventually managed to figure out what was bothering his aunt and uncle.

Uncle Vernon didn't get his promotion.

It seemed that someone in a more senior position had retired - or been pensioned off, that part was never very clear - and there was some sort of competition for his position. At least, it _sounded_ like a competition, as Uncle Vernon used a lot of racing jargon when he was muttering about it and casting dark glances at Harry from under his bushy brows. It didn't seem likely that it was an actual race - portly Uncle Vernon wasn't likely to win one of those, Harry concluded in silent amusement.

Whatever it was, Uncle Vernon had lost, and the announcement had been made just before Harry returned to Privet Drive. It was also fairly clear that Uncle Vernon thought that _somehow_ this was Harry's fault, and was hindered in saying so not as much by the lack of any logical support for such an assertion as by fear of what might happen should Harry complain to his wizarding friends.

The fuss about Uncle Vernon's promotion obscured the other major change at Privet Drive. This one was so bizarre and incomprehensible that Harry had a hard time believing it, but it was true nonetheless - _Dudley__ had a girlfriend_. He spent enormous amounts of time speaking to her in muffled tones on the extension telephone. This was definitely an improvement in Harry's view, as any time he spent talking to his girlfriend was not spent in bothering Harry, although Harry had some difficulty imagining what sort of a girl would actually choose to spend time in Dudley's presence, not to mention dating him.

"A friend of Dudley's is coming to dinner this evening," Uncle Vernon announced loudly from behind his newspaper one morning at the breakfast table. "_You_ will remain in your room." He informed Harry, glowering at him particularly before raising the newspaper again with a snap.

From the very anxious look on Dudley's pudgy face and the way Aunt Petunia busied herself at the sink, the identity of the visitor was obvious to Harry – not to mention the fact that Piers Polkiss, who was Dudley's only real friend who lived in the neighborhood, already knew that Harry existed and had been to dinner before with Harry present. Dudley didn't have a lot of friends.

"No, thanks," Harry said politely, just as if Uncle Vernon had offered him a treat of some sort. Dudley's piggy little eyes widened in alarm.

"Now, _see here_," Uncle Vernon began angrily.

"I don't think they would approve of my being prevented from doing something as normal as eating dinner," Harry warned coolly, enjoying the effect this had on his uncle and cousin. Aunt Petunia had stopped pretending to wash anything and turned back to face her husband and son. The three of them were looking at each other with a sort of helpless desperation that was very gratifying after the way they had treated him - until it occurred to Harry just how pitiful this was.

Harry sighed. "Look, I'm not going to start talking about Hogwarts in the middle of the meal, okay?" he told them, ignoring the way his aunt and uncle flinched at the mere mention of the name of his school. "I am only going to come down here and sit at the table and eat my dinner like an ordinary human being."

"But - but - _Veronica_!" Dudley wailed, casting entreating looks at first one parent and then the other. "He'll _ruin_ it, I know he will." Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were communicating silently, obviously torn between fear of discovery and fear of the Order.

"If you let slip so much as a _hint_ -" Uncle Vernon threatened weakly. Dudley's mouth fell open.

"Dad, you _can't_! It's _Veronica_! It's -"

"Harry's going to behave himself at dinner while your guest is here," Uncle Vernon said, trying to sound reassuring (for Dudley) and threatening (to Harry) at the same time. "You know we wouldn't let anything bad happen during your special dinner!" Dudley opened his mouth, but his father added hastily, "You're growing into quite a man, Dudley, quite a man. And your mother and I have decided that it's time you had your own mobile. That way, you can speak with, er, your friends, whenever you like."

"My own mobile?" Dudley echoed. Harry could see from the calculating look in Dudley's piggy little eyes that the bribe was an attractive one. "Not one of the heavy ones, I'll need something very light," he informed his father.

"Newest model, Dudley," Uncle Vernon reassured him instantly, and peace was thus temporarily restored to the Dursley household.

Although Dudley had been fobbed off with the mobile for the moment, he made it clear that what he _really _wanted was an automobile of his own. Uncle Vernon had enrolled Dudley in a school that taught motoring, and Dudley had even refused to go back to wrestling camp this year as it would have interfered with his lessons. He complained bitterly about the introduction of the new theory test the previous summer, despite the fact that he couldn't even sit for it until his provisional license (which he had applied for at the earliest possible date – the only time Harry remembered Dudley doing anything early) became valid, which wouldn't happen until his birthday. When he wasn't occupied with Veronica, he and Piers spent hours pouring over motoring magazines and discussing the latest machines.

It didn't seem to occur to anyone that _Harry_ might want to learn to drive.

He thought about saying something – the Dursleys could probably be convinced to teach him to drive by threatening to explain exactly why this particular skill was one Harry did not need to acquire – but driving didn't seem to be worth the bother. The truth was that he was more interested in being allowed to fly his Firebolt and learning to Apparate – Remus had mentioned something about teaching him – and Harry was hopeful that he could get his ticket before returning to Hogwarts for the last time in the fall.

In the interim, at least Harry would get to satisfy his curiosity by meeting Dudley's girlfriend.

Her name was Veronica Elliott, and it was evident in the way that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia prepared for her arrival for dinner that they approved of her. Aunt Petunia fluttered around fussing about the state of the house – and the china – and the dinner. Uncle Vernon read _The Times_ in state in the front parlor, happily emitting random remarks like "Quite the little man, now, eh?" and "Chip off the old block," to no one in particular. Dudley, dressed in a tight maroon jumper that made him look like a fat blond sausage and sweating profusely, waddled around the dining table adjusting things on the place settings – Aunt Petunia had used the best company china – while glaring repeatedly at the fifth chair.

Harry decided to stay out of the way until supper – maybe finish up some of his homework – and headed for the stairs.

"Is _that_ what you're wearing?" Dudley demanded, surveying Harry's Muggle clothes with dissatisfaction as he passed.

Harry was dressed in one of Dudley's cast-off jumpers and baggy trousers from a couple years before – more recent cast-offs wouldn't have been wearable. Even these, from a time when Dudley hadn't yet achieved his present monumental proportions, were ridiculously huge on Harry. With the sleeves rolled up all the way, it was difficult to tell what sort of a garment the top was supposed to be (the shoulders came down to Harry's elbows) although it did serve the purpose of covering up the strange look of the trousers which were deeply gathered by an improvised belt. At least the extra fabric helped make up for the shorter length – Harry's growth had been in a different direction than Dudley's, and Harry was now decidedly taller than his cousin. If the hand-me-down trousers had fit properly around Harry's waist, then the inseam would not have hung to mid-thigh, and they would have been noticeably short.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "If there's something else you want me to wear, say so. But I warn you, this is probably the best of the lot in my wardrobe – although I do have some nicer dress robes in my school trunk if that's what you prefer."

Dudley's eyes widened, and he waddled back to the dining table without another word.

"Fine time to start worrying about my wardrobe," Harry muttered to himself, continuing on up the stairs.

He heard the doorbell ring when Dudley's girlfriend arrived, but stayed in his room for a little bit before heading downstairs. The Dursleys were all still assembled in the front parlor, beaming at a girl in an icy pink dress. She was thin, like Aunt Petunia, who was complimenting her on her dress when Harry came in, but the resemblance ended there.

"Oh, and, er, my nephew, Harry," Uncle Vernon said shortly, glaring in warning. "Just here on a short visit. Don't see much of him – not really part of the family." His nervousness led him to rather botch the introduction – he never really finished it – but Veronica Elliott was quite capable of handling herself.

"Veronica Elliott," she pronounced with cool condescension, as she offered a thin, limp hand. "How do you do?"

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, restraining the impulse to give that cold, limp hand a hearty shake rather than a perfunctory one. "Pleased to meet you."

"Shall we – go in to dinner?" Aunt Petunia suggested at once.

Veronica was seated in solitary splendor on Uncle Vernon's right, with Dudley and Harry opposite her. From a standpoint of girth, Harry thought it would have made more sense if he had been seated on her other side. It wasn't that he wanted to talk to her particularly, but Dudley was so wide that he easily took up more width than three normal people, and Harry felt rather squashed sharing his side of the table. The conversation was more interesting than he expected – although not because anyone said anything all that interesting. It was more that he enjoyed watching everyone. Uncle Vernon talked a great deal in a booming voice, trying not to glance nervously at Harry as though he were a bomb that could explode at any moment. Aunt Petunia kept offering Veronica more food whenever he paused for breath; Dudley kept shoveling his supper into his mouth absentmindedly, his piggy little eyes fixed adoringly on Veronica's face the whole time.

She bore it all as her due, listening politely to Uncle Vernon's stories and responding with a well-bred titter when laughter was called for as her sharp eyes assessed everything. Harry had the feeling that she had calculated the cost of every item in the room – from the furniture and china to Aunt Petunia's dress – long before his aunt rose to fetch the pudding, and for once Harry was actually thankful he was wearing Dudley's cast-offs. For the most part, Harry escaped her notice until the end of the meal, when he rose to excuse himself.

"You're not staying?" Veronica asked lazily, belied by the shrewdness in her eyes. Harry could almost feel the Dursleys tense.

"Unfortunately, I have some homework I have to finish," Harry said simply. "But it was nice to meet you."

"You go to school?" she persisted.

"Yes, yes, Harry goes to a – " Uncle Vernon began, but Harry – who thought he had heard enough about Saint Brutus' – met his eyes, and the older man reconsidered, " – a _special_ school."

"Special?"

Harry saw Uncle Vernon's mouth start to open, and took back the conversation.

"The emphasis is on working with animals," Harry interposed smoothly, watching Uncle Vernon's mouth close with a snap of irritation and relief. "Of all sorts," he added, indulging his own sense of humor. "We have a project at the moment involving the study of owls, and I need to attend to mine." Uncle Vernon was looking upset again, so Harry continued, "I thought you might want to know in case you see one outside later that there's a perfectly _normal_ explanation for its presence," and received a slight jerk of the head from his uncle in silent approval.

"Yes, Harry needs to, er, get back to work. But I do hope you'll join the rest of us in the parlor."

The rest of the visit seemed – from what Harry could tell judging by the muffled sounds drifting up the stairs – to go fairly well. He did let Hedwig out to stretch her wings in the cool night air, leaving the window open for her when he went to sleep.

The following morning, Hedwig was not the only owl in Harry's room – Pigwidgeon had arrived sometime during the night. The tiny owl was drinking from Hedwig's water dish when Harry first woke up, and began fluttering around excitedly as soon as he realized that Harry was awake.

"I can't get your letter if you don't settle down," Harry pointed out, causing Pig to flutter down to deliver his letter and Hedwig to preen her feathers.

_Harry,_

_Fred and George have got tickets for the match between Puddlemere United and the Montrose Magpies on Saturday. Not the World Cup, but it should still be a decent match, and Oliver's playing – do you think the Muggles will let you come? Let me know right away. The parents have given permission since Bill and Charlie will be coming too. _

_Ginny's going to stay with Hermione this weekend – did you hear that she and Dean broke up? – and then Hermione will be going on holiday with her parents, and I won't be able to see her for a while. Not that I see her that much now – there's not a lot of privacy at The Burrow, and when she's here, she's quite likely to spend some of the time talking to Ginny! If Dad is around, he wants to ask her about Muggle things, and Mum talks to her too. I never thought about it before, but there are definite disadvantages to having a girlfriend who's on such good terms with your family. I'm almost looking forward to going back to school._

_Ron_

Letter in hand, Harry headed down to see his aunt and uncle, who were breakfasting at the time (Dudley evidently wasn't awake yet).

"One of _the_ Elliotts, Petunia," Uncle Vernon was saying with approval – and something of an air of having repeated it a number of times before. "Of course, a supplier's not as good as a _customer_, but still – an _excellent_ contact there. Really –" He came to an abrupt halt as he realized Harry was present. "What do _you_ want?"

"Besides breakfast?" Harry replied, seating himself and helping himself to some eggs. "Permission to go to a –" _Careful_, he warned himself, " – sporting event on Saturday. I'd be gone most of the day." He rather thought that the last part would be something of an inducement, but he had forgotten about the problems attending his last visit to a Quidditch match from the Dursleys' house.

The Dursleys had not.

"If you think you can bring your – your – " Uncle Vernon began to sputter, his face darkening immediately. "This is _my_ home, and I will not have it – _blown up_ –"

"Uncle Vernon –"

"_Fireplaces!_ Traveling in such an abnormal –"

"_Uncle Vernon_, they won't come that way," Harry insisted forcefully, wondering what else they could arrange – Knight Bus? Portkey? – but knowing that he had to diffuse his uncle if he was going to get permission. Somehow, he didn't think the Order would regard not allowing Harry to go to a Quidditch match as mistreatment. "I'll tell them not to," he promised. His uncle stopped sputtering, but eyed him warily.

"Only arrange something worse," his uncle objected, sounding a little peevish – and rather like Dudley for a moment. Aunt Petunia tried to pick up her coffee cup, decided her hands were too shaky, and put it down again with a small clatter.

"I'll make sure they don't," Harry said firmly. His uncle began cutting one piece of his breakfast meat into smaller and smaller pieces, staring firmly down at his plate.

"_No one _can notice_ anything,_" his uncle said at last, finally raising his eyes from his plate to glare at Harry, and sounding much more like his usual disagreeable self. "If _anyone_ gets as much as a _hint_ – "

Harry grinned.

Uncle Vernon flinched, and then covered it by chomping ferociously down on a large piece of sausage.

- > > > > > >

Partway through the game, Harry saw Fred nudge his twin to get his attention before glancing significantly at the stands on the other side of the stadium. George raised his omnioculars and began to scan the crowd of fans, ignoring the resumption of the match itself.

_"And it's Nevins of the Magpies with the quaffle, as she passes to Keaton and avoids __Crawley__'s bludger. Keaton tries for a goal, but Wood saves it, and Puddlemere United has possession –"_

George seemed to have found whatever he was looking for, and a slow smile spread across his face before he and Fred exchanged congratulatory grins.

"What are you two smirking about?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, little brother," Fred assured him blithely, apparently watching the game. "Look at that!"

"_And it's another great save by Oliver Wood, just up from the reserve team_," the announcer declared.

"Butterbeer?" George suggested. "Our treat." Receiving a chorus of nods and thanks, the twins rose and headed for the refreshment stand.

Ron raised the omnioculars Harry had purchased for him at the Quidditch World Cup and began scanning the crowd in the stands opposite. Harry went back to studying the game. The seeker for the Montrose Magpies was an older woman with spiky blond hair that made her look strangely startled, but she darted around the field with quick little spurts of speed in different directions that made her very hard to follow. As Harry studied her, he realized that she had covered the entire field in a short time. There seemed to be a pattern in those seemingly random movements. He almost had it –

"Harry, look," Ron whispered.

"What?"

"Over there, fifty-seventh row."

Obediently, Harry turned his own omnioculars away from the Magpies' seeker – damn it, he had almost had that pattern – and started scanning the indicated row. In his haste to get done and get back to the game, he went by Lupin so quickly that he was looking half a dozen seats down the row before he realized that it was Remus he had seen. He slid the omnioculars back to confirm that it really was his former professor.

Remus was looking more carefree than Harry remembered seeing him in his own memories, watching the game with obvious pleasure. The older man turned for a moment to say something to the woman next to him, and Harry realized with a start that it was the dark-haired witch with the bicycle – Alex. Whatever Remus said made her laugh, and he smiled broadly at her, with an odd light in his eyes that Harry had never seen before, before returning his attention to the game. Harry lowered his omnioculars.

"Is he on a _date_?" Ron hissed.

"Dunno. I suppose." Harry couldn't think of anyone who deserved to be happy more than Remus did, but it was a little awkward talking to Ron about him. Remus seemed to be okay with his having read Sirius' diary, but that wasn't the same thing as wanting it shared with anyone else.

"But he's a _teacher_," Ron protested. Harry looked at him, and Ron flushed. "Okay, he _was_ a teacher, and I guess there's no reason teachers can't date but –" Ron stopped and looked really weirded out. "Do you think _Snape_ dates?"

"If he does, I don't want to know about it," Harry said shortly. "Let's just watch the game."

- > > > > >

His social life – or lack thereof – was not high on Severus Snape's list of concerns at the moment. He thought he had managed to convince the committee to modify the N.E.W.T. in Potions for the following year to free up the supply of Shadow Witch petals, partially thanks to some unexpected support from Griselda Marchbanks. His own examinations were marked, and the preliminary results of this year's O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s appeared to be satisfactory.

The latter was, he decided, largely due to his insistence on maintaining certain standards regarding admission to Advanced Potions – standards which Minerva had convinced him to – well, reconsider – in Potter's case. Severus was torn between wanting Potter to fail abysmally (which would prove that the wonder boy wasn't quite as wonderful as so many people thought) and wanting him to pass (which would prove that Severus had sufficient skill as a professor to impart _some_ level of competence even to someone with Potter's O.W.L. results). Then he had the lowering thought that some credit for the knowledge Potter had acquired during the year might actually be due to that Granger girl, and suffered similarly ambivalent feelings in response.

"Severus, a word?" It was the Headmaster, gliding neatly down the hall.

"Yes?" Dumbledore waited until the door had closed behind them in Severus' private workroom before he replied.

"Harry has asked for permission to add a marker for Sirius Black to Lily and James' stone in the cemetery," the Headmaster told him, his expression a little too carefully placid. Severus' own face solidified into a mask immediately. "And I have decided to grant it. There will be a short memorial service marking the occasion and, as you know, we are rather short-handed at the moment. I wonder if I might impose on you to attend?"

Severus' mask slipped for a moment. "You want _me _to attend a memorial service for –"

"If you would be so kind." The Headmaster's pale eyes regarded him wisely over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "I happened to mention it to Minerva, and she thought it would be a prudent step to have some persons in attendance who could provide security for the proceedings," he continued blandly.

There was nothing to say to that – probably what the old wizard had intended, Severus concluded sourly.

"Very well," he answered tightly. "I'll be there."

- > > > > >

The memorial service for Sirius was held mid-week, on a sunny afternoon while Harry was still at the Dursleys.

Harry had not known that it would be held that day until Remus had actually appeared to collect him; he had known that Dumbledore was arranging a Portkey so that Harry could attend the services, but the date was not settled in advance as a security precaution. Remus, when he arrived, was wearing his usual shabby robes, which made Harry feel a bit better about his own ill-fitting Muggle attire as they made their way to the Dursleys' back garden where Aunt Petunia, white-faced and trembling, was standing and holding a set of garden shears.

"It won't be a very long service, and I'll have Harry back shortly with no one the wiser," Remus promised, obviously attempting to sooth her. Aunt Petunia stared at the pair of them, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then her eyes settled on Harry. Much to his surprise, she spoke.

"You can't go like that," she said flatly. "Stay there." She marched back into the house.

Harry looked over at Remus in inquiry – was she trying to prevent him from going? – but the older man did not look alarmed. Harry's jaw set. He was _not_ going to miss his godfather's service, not after –

"We've got plenty of time, Harry," Remus told him, before a small sigh escaped him. "I think I upset your aunt by Apparating into the back garden," he confessed, "although I was actually trying to be discreet. And then, when I explained where I was taking you –"

"It's okay," Harry assured him. "She's just – uncomfortable – with this. It wouldn't have made any difference what you said."

They waited together, apparently patiently – Harry telling himself repeatedly that Remus wouldn't let them be late, and they wouldn't start without him, and there was no need to worry – but it was not many minutes before his aunt reappeared. There was a strange look in her eyes – both furtive and defiant – and to Harry's amazement, her arms were full of _flowers_. As she got closer, he recognized blooms from some of her prized plantings in the front of the house, and he felt his jaw slipping open in astonishment.

"Here," she said shortly, her lips compressed as she thrust them into his arms. "It's only _proper_," she insisted, just as if Harry had objected when he hadn't said a word.

Harry's senses were assaulted by the rich fragrance now just under his nose.

"Er –" he began blankly, but his aunt wasn't looking at him and didn't seem to be paying attention.

"It was always her favorite," she said, apparently addressing one of the roses in the bunch of flowers she had handed to her nephew – a soft yellow one with touches of pink at the edges of the petals that Harry had always thought was rather pretty. "Although it seemed that _everyone_ liked it – won an award one year as the world's favorite rose, even though it hasn't got much scent to speak of, and that yellow color isn't the easiest to work with. But the _Memoriam_ will provide some scent without clashing _too_ obviously, and it gives me something to do with the _Moonsprite_."

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," Harry said softly.

She looked up then to glare at Harry through suspiciously glassy eyes, and sniffed sharply. "Well, it will have to do," she said stringently, "for if you think I'm going to cut any of my _Souvenir de la Malmaison_ for this, you're very much mistaken." With this pronouncement, she turned on her heel and marched inside, closing the kitchen door sharply behind her.

They were the last to arrive at the small graveyard, and Harry saw, as he laid the flowers in front of the headstone, that some of the others had obviously brought flowers as well. Some of them he recognized, like the modest cluster of sweet peas, the loose scattering of multi-colored chrysanthemums, and the mixed arrangement of forget-me-nots, but there were others he did not. There were some bluish-purple things he felt he ought to have been able to name next to a cluster of small yellow flowers he didn't think he'd ever seen before, and he only recognized some of the varieties (daisies, zinnias, and lilies) in a few mixed bunches. Harry had brought the only roses.

The memorial service was very short. A wizard Harry didn't know officiated, and Tonks made a little speech which had the inadvertent effect of reminding Harry that they had been related. All the Weasleys were there except for Percy – even Charlie who had obviously come a good distance to attend, and Harry found comfort in the sympathetic expression on Ron's face when the officiating wizard said some stuff that made a big lump rise in Harry's throat so that he had to look away for a minute. All the members of the Order who worked at Hogwarts were there too – even Snape, who looked, for once, perfectly normal in his habitual black robes – as were Kingsley Shaklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody, but none of the others. Harry knew that they had been forced to keep this ceremony quiet, and for the most part, he didn't mind. The only one he missed was Hermione, but she was on holiday with her family and Harry suspected that arranging her presence – necessarily involving a Portkey in and back, and with only Muggles in her family to cover her absence – had been too difficult to manage.

After the service, Dumbledore asked all of them to join hands in a circle around the grave, and the Headmaster said an incantation which added a small inscription to the stone in neat letters. It wasn't anything very grand, but the simple inscription after his name and the dates – _Always faithful_ – did what the speechmaking did not and moved Harry to tears.

Fortunately Hagrid let out a loud wail at just the same time Remus was putting one arm around Harry while retrieving a handkerchief to offer him with the other, which was a convenient distraction. Harry was able to dry his eyes in relative privacy before people started coming up and talking to him.

Maybe it was the small size of the group, but everyone seemed to feel that they had to say something to Tonks, Remus, and Harry – even Snape, who didn't say any more than "Lupin" and "Potter" in a very strange voice before turning abruptly and stalking off. But Harry didn't have time to wonder about it, for Mrs. Weasley had finally arrived to give him one of her motherly hugs and keep fussing over him until Remus gently reminded her that they had to leave soon (most of the others had already left) and Harry hadn't yet had a chance to speak with Ron.

Ron's simple, "I know I've said it before, but – I'm really sorry, Harry," was accompanied by an attempt to pat Harry on the back that was as awkward as a teenage boy could make it, but it meant a great deal to Harry, who was very thankful that the Weasleys had come as he watched the Portkey spirit them away. Tonks, who was one of the last to remain, also gave Harry a pat on the back before she left too, and then Harry realized that it was really over.

"It's a good inscription," he said at last to Remus, who was standing quietly beside him.

"Yes," the older man agreed, "but a little too telling. I don't know if the Headmaster told you, but the existence of this marker will be hidden – only those who were here today will be able to see it."

"It's a shame Hermione missed it," Harry mused, reaching out unthinkingly to trace the newly carved letters before drawing his hand back. "Can I tell her about it?"

"Yes."

"I suppose we'd better get back – " reluctantly.

"We wouldn't want your aunt to worry," Remus agreed absently. He too had been just standing and looking at the stone marker, but now he sighed and started to fish around in a pocket of his robes for the Portkey.

"It was nice of her to send these," Harry said, still a little surprised by his aunt's behavior. He had the distinct feeling that his aunt would not want him to mention it to Uncle Vernon or Dudley, and he supposed it would be easier if he returned to Privet Drive before they did – she might not even have to mention Harry's absence. "Do you know – did my mum really like those flowers?" he asked, taking another look at that particular rose.

"I think so," was the considerate reply. "They were the centerpiece of her bridal bouquet," Remus told him as he held out the Portkey. "The name of the rose is _Peace_."

-

A/N

This chapter was largely prompted by the information that there really _is_ a graveyard at Hogwarts, and that it is significant to the story. JKR's explanation of the significance will undoubtedly be _much_ more interesting than mine, but I went ahead and put it anyway, despite the fact that this will undoubtedly become AU when HBP is published – oh, well. Also, I'll add a note at the end about the flowers for any of you who are curious about them.

The addition of all the memorial service material pushed up the chapter length (and made me start crying about OotP again, but that's another story) despite the deletion of some major scenes. As this was originally written, Alex and Remus had a fight after the Quidditch match (Remus got a little overprotective when Crawley made a pass at her while Remus was talking to Oliver Wood) but this was largely due to mutual frustration with the state of their relationship and no longer seemed appropriate to the story (they weren't originally scheduled for, er, _intimacy_ until late fall but I just couldn't make them wait that long). Anyway, the result is a lot of Harry this time – and possibly for a while – so I hope you all like him, although he does cheer up a bit (thankfully) now that we're past the sad part. As much as I've restructured parts of the timeline in order to accommodate Remus and Alex, I had already mentioned the first quarter of 1998 for certain events which have to happen before they – well, never mind, but the point is that I can't push it any earlier, so time will start passing much more quickly once we get past the summer. It really _has_ to if I'm ever going to get this finished. If you're missing the early romantic parts like I do, I will point out that Ginny is once again foot-loose, if perhaps not entirely fancy-free!

If you're wondering why my author's note this time is practically giddy, I will point out that this chapter (not counting the note, of course) will push the posted length of _Fallible_ over **_one hundred thousand words_** and my overall submissions over **_two hundred thousand words_**, so I'm making a special occasion exemption to my normal limit on author's notes – I don't know if anyone but me is impressed by that, but I have to say I'm _stunned_! I'm so happy, I won't make my usual polite request that any criticism be constructive – if you positively _must_ flame someone, feel free to send them my way. In my current mood, it wouldn't bother me a bit, and ordinary reviews are always welcome!

**_Flowers:_**

_Peace_ is a gorgeous hybrid tea rose which debuted in 1945 (hence, the name) and well worth a Google search for a picture. I suspect James would have wanted lilies in the bridal bouquet as well, and the _Peace_ rose would work with yellow ones very nicely – or possibly some of the pinks – but I've always thought Lily would have been tired of lilies by the time she was an adult. Much too trite. _Memoriam_, and _Moonsprite_ are both much more fragrant than _Peace_; they are light pink and light yellow respectively, so this bouquet would actually have been rather pretty, although I obviously liked the names. _Souvenir de la Malmaison_ is one of the old garden roses which pre-dates modern hybridization (a Bourbon, 1843), and I have privately decided that Petunia would be rather snobbish about cultivating it.

I'll also save you looking up the meaning of the other flowers (special occasion exemption to my normal limit on author's notes!): sweet peas meant _good-bye, remember me_; assorted chrysanthemums stood for _cheerfulness in adversity_, although the individual colors have their own meanings; forget-me-nots – well, that should be obvious; purple hyacinth meant _sorrow, grief, _and _please forgive me_; and wallflowers said you were _faithful in adversity_. Gerber daisies indicate _thought of an absent friend_, and zinnias mean _I mourn your absence, _although frankly, I _don't_ think everyone there chose the flowers for their meaning. I'll let you decide who sent what!


	27. Awkward

The memorial service for Sirius had brought Remus some sense of – well, closure, although he really didn't like that word – and it had also eased some of the strain of attending meetings of the Order. Nevertheless, some of the distance between him and the Headmaster which resulted from Sirius' death still lingered, and he silently vowed to make sure that Harry, who was rather sensitive at times, did not become aware of it. Remus did not want to reinforce the distance between the two of them; Harry was going to need all the support he could get.

Busily calculating the time remaining until Harry could leave the Dursleys and reviewing the plans for actually getting him out, Remus didn't notice the newcomer enter the meeting room. Bill, seated next to him, did, and Remus saw his body jerk upwards in surprise (Bill had a habit of leaning back in his chair).

"What the -"

Remus turned around to see a young woman pausing just past the threshold to the room. Despite her assured bearing, there was a touch of vulnerability in her eyes. Bill rose and crossed to her in a few long-limbed strides.

"Fleur -"

The young woman's chin went up fractionally. "Hello, Bill," she said precisely, managing the "H" quite well and pronouncing Bill's name with only a trace of an accent. Bill stopped quite close in front of her, but didn't touch her. There was warm concern in his eyes as he looked down at her.

"You don't have to do this," he said quietly, "not for me."

"But zis - _this_ - is not a thing that I do for you," she retorted, before stepping around him to take a seat next to Minerva. Bill was still regarding her with an odd expression when Dumbledore arrived to call the meeting to order, and the younger man was forced to resume his seat.

When the Headmaster introduced her to the other members of the Order who were present, the young woman looked around the table and smiled with ready charm, but Remus noticed that her eyes slid carefully past Bill's when she did so. The meeting that night was a fairly brief one, but Bill kept his seat when it ended, allowing Fleur to exchange brief greetings with some of the others.

"You don't want to catch up with her before she leaves?" Remus asked as Fleur began moving in the direction of the door while Bill remained firmly planted in his seat.

"No," the younger man said thoughtfully, his eyes indulgent as they followed the young woman out the door. "I get the feeling this is one of those moments I'm supposed to be respecting her space."

> > > 

"So it looks like we've got a decent chance of getting the Ministry to release the supply of Shadow Witch petals," Alex concluded. "If they do, you'll need to be ready to place your order right away. We got the tentative approval to change the exam, but the Ministry hasn't actually canceled its order yet. I'm guessing they're going to wait one more meeting before they actually release it, as they don't have any cancellation fees until after August fifteenth."

"That's a relief," George admitted, exchanging glances with his twin. Alex quirked a brow up in inquiry.

"It turns out that they're not exactly easy to grow," Fred explained. "It's not like growing vegetables, or other flowers, where you plant the seeds in the spring, water and fertilize over the summer, and have mature plants in the fall. Orchids have something different about their seeds, so you have to grow them in a sterile environment."

"And it takes three to five _years_ to get a bloom," George added, "even if everything goes well. We've been working on some ideas to accelerate the schedule with magic, but we've never tried to use an Aging Potion on a plant before. It would have to be included in part of the regular watering, but if we age it too much without appropriate nutrients, the plant may be too weak to bloom. And too much fertilizer can really mess up the mineral intake, unless you manage to compensate by –" Alex waved him to silence.

"Never mind, I get the point," she said flatly, softening her words with a hint of a smile. "We don't want to grow it."

"Well, it might be an interesting challenge sometime," Fred mused, "but I don't think we want to risk losing Hogwarts over it."

"Had a lot of fun there," George added, grinning reminiscently. "Only fair to let the other students have a go."

"– And Mum and Dad deserve to see little Ronniekins graduate," his brother agreed. "After all, the last ceremony they attended was _Percy's_."

"Well, if everything goes well in January, they'll be attending another ceremony in June," Alex pointed out, deftly bringing the conversation to a close as she rose to leave. George stopped her by stretching his hand out as though he expected her to give him something first. Her brows rose in confusion.

"Receipts?" Fred prompted.

"Oh." Alex looked blankly at her purse for a moment, then opened it up and started pulling things out of it. The twins patiently sorted through the little flutter of tiny, crumpled papers.

"What is this one?" George asked. Alex frowned at it.

"Car hire," she decided. Fred rolled his eyes slightly.

"We can see that," he informed her with exaggerated patience. "Did you already pay it out of cash, or will it be coming in on your bank charge?"

"I think I billed that one." As Fred and George were regarding her with identical expressions of disapproval, she added defensively, "Well, I knew what I did with it at the time, but that was a couple weeks ago. You can't expect me to _remember_ that sort of thing."

"Apparently not," George agreed, sighing slightly.

"Well, I don't see what the problem is," she objected. "I mean, if it comes in on the charge statement, then I charged it."

"Did you make a reservation?" Fred asked.

"Probably."

"And they took the number then?"

Silence.

It wasn't that Alex couldn't see where this was going – if she had paid cash at the time, but the company billed her as well (even if they were honestly mistaken – or it was the driver who didn't report her payment to the main office!) then she would end up paying twice. And if it had been one of her clients, she would certainly have counseled them to pay more attention to their accounts.

But the truth was that tracking every little penny seemed like an awful lot of energy to devote to something that didn't matter very much. Even before all this had happened, she had really only paid attention to money when she had to. She had to plan for retirement and emergency savings and so on, but she had never seen the point in getting overly obsessive about the whole thing. The neat thing about having money automatically taken out of your check was that it was, well, _automatic_, which meant it didn't require you to actually _do_ anything. Whatever was left over had gone into her checking account – which had a lovely phone system that let you call in and see how much was there so you didn't get overdrawn – and she did what she wanted to with that with a clear conscience. An occasional double payment didn't seem like a high price to pay for not having to spend large parts of her life collecting little pieces of paper and reconciling long columns of figures every month. Especially since she had a lot more faith in the computerized banking system than in her own accounting. When she had first opened a checking account, the bank had sent her statements with instructions on the back for how to balance it every month – which she had done faithfully until it occurred to her that the only thing the exercise of balancing her checkbook gave her was a headache.

But this situation was a little different. Fred and George were letting her use their accounts, but they weren't exactly computerized any more than Gringotts was, although she supposed that there had to be some sort of interface somewhere or they wouldn't have been able to arrange a normal Muggle charge card for her. Which was very nice of them, and let her keep her name out of things like banking records and such – and that was important to her, even if the money part wasn't very much. If anything, it was even less important than it had been before this happened.

Her retirement wasn't exactly a high priority any more.

But all this accounting stuff was important to them. Even if she was perfectly comfortable with the risk of an occasional double payment taken out of her funds, it obviously bothered the twins, and it wasn't fair to impose more of a burden on them than she had to.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I know I'm not very good at tracking this stuff, but I'll try to figure out a way to make it easier for you."

"Alex, has it never occurred to you that we could be robbing you blind?" Fred demanded.

"You wouldn't," she said confidently. "Even if you broke into the high security vaults at Gringotts, you'd be more likely to turn all the Galleons pink or something than to steal them."

"She's got us there," George admitted. A strange light was coming into Fred's eyes.

"You know, it would be kind of –" he began.

"_Don't you dare_," Alex ordered, trying to keep her face straight. "I need you here and not trapped in a high security vault."

"Spoilsport."

> > > 

The money Alex had loaned him the previous summer made things a little easier for Harry his last few weeks at the Dursleys. One day when Aunt Petunia dragged him off to the market with her (she still didn't want to leave him alone in the house) he was able to slip away for a moment and break the bills she had given him into smaller bills and coins. Aunt Petunia, having encountered Mrs. Next Door near the bakery goods, was more than willing to pause in her marketing for a few minutes to hear all about what Mrs. Next Door heard about a new neighbor (who had just moved in that month) from her friend Celia who had it on _very_ good authority, but all in the _strictest _confidence.

Once Harry had some spending money, he was able to escape for the day a few times when things got too difficult at the Dursleys. There weren't really any shops or anything within walking distance, but there was a bus stop where Harry could catch a ride into town. The Muggle transportation was positively staid in comparison to the Knight Bus, but Harry didn't mind. For one thing, it made it easier for his ever present guards to keep an eye on him, he decided sourly, which at least saved him from being lectured about reckless behavior just because he wanted to get away from the house once in a while. He didn't do anything worth fussing about – just wandering around a bit and looking in shop windows, maybe getting something inexpensive to eat, or spending some time in the park – but he really didn't want to have a row about it. One of the reasons he wasn't doing anything much was that he had to be careful with his money until he could get some more changed at Gringotts (having stuffed the Muggle money in a pocket the previous year, he had left it at Privet Drive and totally forgotten about it until he returned).

Even when he had access to his vault, he was still going to need to be careful – now more than ever. He wasn't sure what would happen at the end of seventh year – if he was accepted for training as an Auror, would it be like a job with a small pay packet or like school where you paid to attend? – but he was _not_ coming back to Privet Drive no matter what. He wasn't sure what sort of a job he might be able to get if he didn't get into Auror training, but he was going to need a place to live either way. He rather thought that the Weasleys would let him stay with them for a few weeks while he found something, but he couldn't stay there indefinitely.

It occurred to Harry that he had no idea what it cost to keep a place to live. Uncle Vernon had a habit of complaining about how much it cost to keep Harry, but that wasn't exactly _useful_, even without the question of whether keeping a wizarding household was different from keeping a Muggle one. And for all Uncle Vernon's complaining about the expense of Harry living with them, there seemed to be plenty of money for things Dudley wanted. Dudley had not only gotten his mobile, he had also received a special holder that allowed him to display it on his belt, which he did at every opportunity. It looked as though he would end up getting an automobile too; ironically, his parents promised to get him one when he got his license as consolation for _failing_ his theory test.

All of which was quite normal at number 4, Privet Drive.

It also seemed quite normal for Uncle Vernon to continue to glare at Harry and mutter about promotions – the one he had just lost was apparently the second in a row – but eventually some of his attention turned to ways to rectify the problem, and he and Aunt Petunia began making plans to host a party ("Needs to be the _right_ _sort_, Petunia, that's very important,") once "that boy" (meaning Harry) was finally gone for good.

Then that time finally came.

Harry had packed all his things in his school trunk (he was leaving Dudley's cast-offs behind, so everything fit, although it was a little tight) the night before. He slept fitfully at first, as he kept waking up and looking hopefully at his watch to see if it was the day he was leaving, but then he finally fell asleep properly and slept later than he expected. As he was waking up, he could vaguely hear Uncle Vernon hurrying out the door and caught fragments of the conversation between his aunt and uncle drifting up through the window he had left open for Hedwig.

"Of course, Petunia, if you _need_ us here to make sure he actually _leaves_ –"

"I'm sure it will be fine, Vernon. It's not as though I haven't been alone in the house with him before –"

"And then tonight, why don't we go out to dinner, have a bit of a celebration? You've been looking a bit peaked, and I know it's been a strain, but that will all be over soon –"

"Why don't we dine at the new place on Market Street? I hear that the Westons have been seen there, and I'll be able to wear my new blue dress. It should be smart enough without looking as though we're trying too hard –"

The air was still enough for Harry to hear the brief perfunctory kiss that was their habit before he heard, "Come along, Dudley, if you want me to drop you off at Piers' house. You've got your mobile, have you? Your mother and I will be dining out tonight –" and then the slamming of doors and the start of the engine. It wasn't long before the drone faded away.

He could hear his aunt washing up in the kitchen, and he supposed he ought to get up and have some breakfast, but he really didn't want to go down. He rose and dressed – and tidied the bed – and fed Hedwig when she returned before sending her off again to Sturgis' house – and then sat on the bed to wait. He didn't expect to be collected until rather later, but he couldn't really think of anything he wanted to do in the interim. He was a little surprised to hear his aunt's voice summoning him to the kitchen very shortly after that, but perhaps she was irritated about waiting for him to eat so she could clear the table.

As he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, he realized that his aunt – quite stiff and rather pale – was nearly surrounded by members of the Order crowding into her kitchen. She was clutching a tea towel with a white-knuckled grip, and looking as though Harry's breakfast was the least of her concerns. Remus, wearing one his shabby robes, was among the group, and Harry's face split in the sort of smile he rarely wore at the Dursleys when he saw him.

"Harry, how are you?" Remus asked. Harry was almost getting used to having Remus hug him – it was rather nice, really, made him feel sort of warm and, well, _safe_, even if he should have been too old for that sort of thing – and he was able to hug him back now without feeling too strange about it. "Are you all packed?" Harry nodded happily, pleased that they had come so much earlier than he had expected.

"My trunk's upstairs," he confirmed quickly. "Hedwig left already, so there's just that and her cage. And my broom, of course."

"Wotcher, Harry?" Tonks sang out cheerfully before heading toward the stairs. She only bumped into one of the kitchen chairs and the newel post before disappearing from sight.

"Well, Harry?" Moody's magical eye was rolling around as it usually did. "Any signs of trouble?"

"No, everything's fine, thanks," Harry assured him. Then he caught sight of his aunt, who had been unconsciously backing away from the strange group invading her kitchen until blocked from further retreat by the door to the pantry. She was evidently not as accustomed to Moody's magical eye as Harry was, and fright had widened her own small, pale blue ones to almost normal size. Harry's mouth opened to say something, but he couldn't think of what. An awkward silence fell. Harry had just looked to Remus when a loud series of thumps heralded Tonks' return with Harry's trunk, his Firebolt, and Hedwig's cage.

"Why don't you make sure everything's all right outside?" Remus suggested generally. "Harry and I will be out in a moment."

The departure of the rest of the group from the kitchen seemed to relieve his aunt, whose chin rose a bit just as the door to the back garden banged shut.

"Er, I just wanted to say, well, thanks," Harry managed awkwardly, and Aunt Petunia's hands, which, having been unclenched, had started twisting the tea towel, now stilled. She seemed to really _look _at him then – which was noticeable for its rarity – and her eyes came across at the level of his collar before she raised them to meet his as though she hadn't expected his eyes to be quite where they were.

"You're as tall as _he_ was," she murmured, and Harry knew instinctively who she meant. Not sure what to say, he made a noncommittal noise, and she pulled herself straighter. "You'd best be getting on, then," she said sharply, sounding much more like she usually did. Harry nodded, not sure what else to do, then looked at Remus and started for the door. When he reached it, though, he hesitated.

"I just – er – well, the flowers." It wasn't coming out right, and his throat felt funny, but he kept going. Aunt Petunia had turned back to the washing up with hands that trembled a little for a moment, but he could tell she was listening from the utter stillness of the bony line of her back. "They were nice, and – it was nice to know what, what she liked." He seemed to be saying "nice" rather a lot and tried again. "They were – it went well. So, er, thank you." He hadn't wanted to say anything where the others could hear – Remus, who was holding the door open patiently for him, already knew, of course, and anyway, Remus was different – and there hadn't really been a good opportunity when Uncle Vernon and Dudley weren't around – but he was glad he got it out, even if he had made a mess of it.

Without waiting for any sort of response, he hurried out of the house on Privet Drive and let the door bang shut behind him.

> > > 

Harry settled into the room he shared with Ron at Sturgis' home fairly happily. Everyone was pleased to see him, which was a pleasant change, although Harry still felt terribly guilty every time he caught sight of the folding bed Remus used in the study. Hermione was still with her parents – they were spending a much longer holiday than usual together this year, which he supposed was understandable since it was the last one they would have before she graduated. Still, Harry missed her – although not nearly as much as Ron, who had a tendency to mope about unless he was distracted (by a chance to practice Quidditch, for example) and who disappeared frequently to pen remarkably long letters to Hermione that he labored over as if they were going to be marked by a highly critical reader. Once the thought occurred to him, Harry started to wonder if Hermione might actually – surely she wouldn't.

Hermione's absence –and Ron's preoccupation with Hermione's absence – left Harry and Ginny rather at loose ends. The twins came by from time to time, bringing with them any mail for the members of their family sent by those not privy to the secret of their present location, but they had their joke shop to run so they couldn't exactly just hang out at Sturgis' house all day. It was too bad in some ways, as Harry and Ginny could have used the twins in Quidditch practice when Ron was busy writing to Hermione.

Harry was supposed to be getting Apparition lessons from Remus after his birthday, but in the interim, he and Ginny had ended up spending more time together while Ron was otherwise engaged. Ginny was much easier to talk to now that she had stopped blushing all the time in his presence, which made Harry much more comfortable in hers – so comfortable that he rather thoughtlessly commented on it one afternoon when the two of them were lounging around in the back garden waiting for Ron to finish his reply to an owl from Hermione (which had arrived an hour ago) so that they could practice. Ron had promised he wouldn't take more than five minutes ("Ten, tops,") to scribble out an answer, although neither Harry nor Ginny had actually believed him.

"Harry, that was _years_ ago," Ginny protested, her eyes dancing a little. "I've been able to speak to you perfectly normally since – well, that was actually quite a few boyfriends ago!"

Harry frowned, considering. "I suppose there _have_ been rather a –" He saw that Ginny realized what he was about to say, and was pressing her lips together in the way she did when she was trying to repress a giggle. "Hey! It's not _my_ fault you've already dated so many – er, well –" he stumbled awkwardly to a stop just as Ginny lost her battle and started to laugh. It sounded so good – so carefree and, well, contagious – that Harry couldn't help joining in.

"Sorry," he apologized – still grinning – when he got his breath back. "I didn't mean it to sound like –"

"I think promiscuous _dating_ is still considered socially acceptable," Ginny returned easily, still looking amused. "What if we were all stuck with the very first person we ever went out with?" She gave a mock shudder. "I mean, _Michael?_ A few dates is one thing, but _forever_?"

Harry thought about Cho then, and what would it have been like if he had kept on dating her. He didn't think it would be especially wonderful to still be dating her – although it was probably hard to draw too many conclusions from just one trip to Madame Puddifoot's. "At least Cho was nicer about losing at Quidditch," he concluded aloud.

"True, but she isn't the one you would have been stuck with," Ginny said idly, adding when Harry shot an inquiring look at her, "Parvati? Yule Ball?"

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that."

"Not very flattering, but at least she's a Gryffindor," Ginny pointed out absently, "which avoids the whole Quidditch Cup problem."

"That means you get Neville instead of Michael," Harry told her.

"True. And I'd _rather _have Neville than Michael. Neville is a definite improvement."

For a moment, Harry had a sudden impulse to say something critical of Neville, which was very odd as he quite _liked _Neville.

"But he's with Hannah now," Harry pointed out instead, wondering for a moment why he felt he had to say it out loud.

"He certainly is," Ginny said softly, with a wicked little flash of a smile that made Harry wonder if she, too, had ever encountered the couple in a private moment. He was about to ask her when she stretched her arms up restlessly for a moment – their resting spot on the back steps was not that comfortable – and sighed slightly as she let them down. "How much longer do you think Ron will be? He needs the practice more than we do."

Then they saw Ron hurrying around the house with his broom, which answered that question.

"Sorry," Ron apologized automatically.

"We're getting used to it," Ginny teased as they headed off to practice.

> > > 

"Owl for you," Fred said casually, dropping a letter next to Ginny's plate while his twin reached out and deftly snagged a bit of bacon from the platter his mother had just set down between Sturgis and Remus.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley said, trying to sound stern.

"Wouldn't begrudge a growing boy a bit of breakfast, would you, Mum?" George retorted cheekily, passing some of the spoils to his twin.

"You two are eating a proper breakfast in the mornings, aren't you?" she asked anxiously. "Ever since you moved out –"

"Leave off, Mum," Fred told her easily, slinging a lanky arm around his mother's plump form for a quick hug. Harry noticed that the twins were much taller than she was. "George and I had our breakfast an hour ago. We just couldn't resist a bit of your home cooking," he teased.

Mrs. Weasley protested this and bustled back to the frying pan to replace the confiscated bacon, but her face was pinker than they had been when she was standing over the stove.

"Who's the letter from?" Ron asked Ginny, who had opened her letter and was skimming through it.

"Nan Selby," she replied absently. "She won't be coming back to school this year."

Harry and Ron looked at her sharply.

"Voldemort?" Harry asked tightly, feeling the tension rising at the use of the name.

Ginny looked up then, an endearing quirk to her lips. "I certainly hope not!" she retorted mildly, folding the letter and setting it aside. "She's due at Halloween."

"Due to what?" Ron asked, his face mirroring Harry's inward confusion.

"Her _baby_ is due, Ron," Ginny explained with exaggerated patience, as her brother visibly paled.

"Won't they let her continue to attend classes?" Harry asked, more to give Ron a chance to recover his composure than out of any real interest.

Ginny shrugged and tucked into her eggs. "She says she wants to stay home with her family."

"Who does, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, returning to the table with a fresh supply of bacon.

"Nan Selby," Ginny told her calmly, "and I think she's probably right. The last two months of a pregnancy must be hard enough without worrying about classes."

The remainder of the bacon slid off the plate Mrs. Weasley was holding just before she dropped it. She was quite pale, and seemed oblivious to Sturgis' belated efforts to rescue her cooking as she whipped around to stare at her youngest child – now a young woman – as if she had never seen her before.

"Are you telling me that _little Nan Selby_ is having a _baby_?" she demanded in a strangely constricted voice.

"Yes, Mum. At Halloween," Ginny confirmed, casually buttering another slice of toast.

"But she's only – why, you're just – oh, my!"

"Why don't you have a seat, Molly?" Remus suggested kindly, rising and guiding Mrs. Weasley into the chair he had just vacated before moving smoothly to assist Sturgis in cleaning up the mess of breakfast meat on the table.

The older woman's color began to come back a little, and she cleared her throat. "Ginny," she said firmly in an over-loud voice, "there are some things we need to talk about now that you're –"

"We already did contraceptive charms, Mum," Ginny told her kindly.

"I thought those were seventh year?" Sturgis said blankly. Everyone turned to look at him. "Well, they were for us," he added defensively.

"Harry, would you like to help me clear?" Remus asked quietly, and Harry seized the excuse with a rush of gratitude.

"I'll help too," Ron offered immediately, pushing his chair back quickly and gathering an armload of dishes.

"We get some of it in fifth year now," Ginny was telling her mother smoothly as they left the dining room.

Harry dumped his dishes in the sink and stepped aside to let Ron do the same.

"Did we miss it?" Harry asked Ron in what he hoped was an undertone. He couldn't remember Professor Flitwick covering contraceptive charms, but in truth, there were some times he had been distracted by other things.

"Somehow, I don't think so," Remus said dryly from behind them. He stepped forward to turn on the hot water tap. "I'm fairly confident that any information Ginny may have received will be, er, shall we say _supplemented_? in the seventh year curriculum." He turned off the tap and began washing up with his normal air of calm competence.

Ron's face darkened.

"Well, if it wasn't part of our lessons, how, exactly, did _my sister_ learn about contraceptive charms?" he demanded dangerously.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Ron," Remus soothed, looking a little amused. "It was probably from Hermione."

"_Hermione_!" Ron sputtered. "How would she possibly –" he closed his mouth abruptly, looking even more upset.

"I only meant that she does _read_ a good deal," Remus pointed out quickly, "and I'm sure she would want, as a prefect, to have that kind of information available."

"I'm sure that's it," Harry added immediately.

"I suppose," Ron said listlessly, glancing back at the dining room door. "Would you mind if I, er –"

"No, go ahead," Harry said immediately, wondering how Hermione was going to react to the letter Ron was about to write. "I can help Remus with the dishes."

"I hope I haven't caused any problems there," Remus said after Ron had disappeared out the door.

"Hermione will get it straightened out," Harry said absently. Nan Selby was in Ginny's class, which meant Ginny was old enough to, well –

Harry's mind shied away from the idea.

Ginny was Ron's little sister. She wasn't, well – that is, she had, of course, gotten older over the years, but that still didn't mean that she, er –

Harry's head was starting to hurt.

"Was there – I mean, when you were in school, er," Harry was having a lot of difficulty figuring out what he wanted to ask, but Remus seemed to understand anyway.

"None of the girls in our year got pregnant," he said very matter of factly, then paused and corrected himself. "I suppose it would be more accurate to say that none of them carried a child to term. I wouldn't necessarily have known of any pregnancies that were terminated, of course. Janet Butterton and Micah Bredon had a child together a little while after they left school, so she was pregnant the last few months of their seventh year, but they were in the year before ours. I think another student a couple years after us may have been pregnant as well, but I never bothered to sort out whether there was any truth in the rumor."

"Oh." Harry couldn't really think of anything to say. He accepted a plate to dry and occupied himself with that. He hadn't thought anything about it (other than being wildly embarrassed) when it was Hannah and Neville, but somehow the idea that _Ginny_ might have – that _Ginn_y would –

Although now that he thought about, she had seemed more, sort of, grown up lately –

He decided _not_ to think about it.

And then there were his parents –

It was one thing to think about them being in love (although the scene in Snape's Pensieve had spoiled that for Harry a little) but he had never really thought about them as, well, students. Well, he had known that they _were_ students of course, but he didn't think of them as having been like him. He knew they were like him in the ways everybody kept telling him about, of course, but he hadn't known that they were – that they did things then that – not that _he_ had ever even –

Harry's headache was getting worse.

"There's nothing unusual about teenagers having sex, Harry," Remus told him calmly, but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes as he said it which somehow helped Harry relax a little. "It happened when we were in school quite as often as I'm sure it does now. Maybe more – we did grow up in the seventies, after all, and sexual freedom was a big theme for our generation."

"It's a little strange to think about your parents having been, er –" Harry admitted.

"Trust me, Harry," Remus replied wryly, "it's a _lot _stranger on the other side. The idea that your children might actually being doing even _some_ of the things you did at their age has been known to make otherwise rational adults go completely, well –"

"Off the rails?"

"Something like that," Remus agreed, grinning in a way that made him look younger, despite the gray in his hair.

"What's it like?" Harry blurted out, realizing too late what he had actually asked and feeling his face start to heat. But Remus, who had just handed him another plate to dry, didn't seem terribly upset.

"I think that depends quite a bit on what you put into it," the older man told him thoughtfully, "although I can only really speak for myself." Remus just went on washing dishes as if this were a perfectly normal conversation, and Harry's curiosity made him forget to be embarrassed. "You're always _yourself,_ you see, even when you're having sex – or making love, as the case may be. When you're with someone you care for deeply, it's more special because it matters more to you – which is not to say it can't be fun without that, but then it's just that – fun – and you miss the other stuff. When you care for your partner, you think more about pleasing her – or him – and you're thinking about that instead of yourself, so you don't expect it to be quite as wonderful as it actually is." A little smile had being playing around Remus' mouth as he was speaking, but then Remus actually smiled and looked over at Harry very directly. "And it _is_ wonderful, Harry. With the right person, it's wonderful."

Harry thought about this for a while, his hands working the towel methodically across the plates (Harry had a lot of practice washing dishes in his early years with the Dursleys). There were still a lot of questions buzzing around in his brain, but the ones he really _wanted_ to ask seemed like the sort of questions he _couldn't_ ask, although maybe he could sort of work up to them a bit.

Or maybe not.

"I suppose a lot of this stuff you just have to sort of figure out for yourself as you go along," he decided out loud.

"Well, some of it is – like anything else, you do get better with practice – but I don't ever want you to feel that there's anything you can't _ask_ me," Remus told him firmly. "I don't promise to know the answer – I'm afraid I'm not exactly an authority on the subject – but I won't mind your asking and I'll tell you what I can."

"I don't want to seem like I'm prying," Harry admitted. They had finished the plates and were starting on the silver.

"If you ask me something too personal, I might say so, but I won't be upset that you asked," Remus assured him.

"Did you talk about this when you were in school?" It was sort of a roundabout beginning, but it seemed like a fairly safe question.

"Some," Remus admitted, "although not the same way we did when we were just a little bit older, and got over the phase of teasing each other because this wasn't something we knew how to talk about. If you're wondering about our attitudes about sex when we closer to your age, they were all different." He handed Harry the last of the silver and started washing up the pans. "It isn't something he ever said explicitly, but I don't think James had any lovers other than your mother. He _dated_ quite a bit when she wouldn't go out with him – took other girls to Hogsmeade, and dances, and such – but never very seriously." Remus smiled then. "I suspect that's one of the reasons Lily had a hard time believing that he _was_ serious about her. Now Sirius, on the other hand, was much more casual about it. In some ways, he was probably considered rather indiscriminate in his choice of partners, but he really wasn't."

"Are you trying to avoid telling me he slept around a lot?" Harry asked bluntly.

"No, because he did, and I don't see any reason to lie about it when Sirius would certainly have told you himself if the subject had ever come up," Remus told him frankly. "He would probably also have told you that he quite enjoyed it too! But I _am_ trying to tell you that he was more careful in choosing his partners than most people realized. He didn't really care whether they were part of the wizarding world or the Muggle one, for example, which I'm sure you understand is _not_ the way he was raised – but he _did_ care about whether they understood what he was offering them. Sirius was a great one for having fun, but he wasn't interested in finding a permanent partner. He described it as 'limiting your options.' He used to tease your father about it sometimes after your parents got engaged, sort of a running joke. Sirius would ask James why he was 'limiting his options' and James would retort that _he_ only wanted the _best_."

Harry smiled in appreciation and accepted the frying pan to dry.

"I suppose I was probably somewhere in the middle," Remus continued. "I never believed you needed to wait until you were married – James wanted to, by the way, but I don't think Lily did, and, no, I don't know which of them won out in the end – but I was never able to be quite as casual about sex as Sirius. I've had more than one lover over the years – I _am_ almost forty, you know – but it's always been in the context of a fairly significant relationship."

"But Sirius was still careful about, er, who he, er –"

Remus kindly put an end to his floundering.

"Yes, he was very careful to make sure his partners' expectations were basically the same as his own." For the first time since they'd started speaking, his former teacher looked troubled.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

"Not really," Remus said very slowly, pausing as he set the last of the cooking pans to drain and pulled the stopper in the sink. "There's something you probably ought to be warned about, and I don't know if this is the right time," he said at last. "I don't want to worry you unnecessarily, and I don't think it's likely to be a problem while you're still at Hogwarts." Harry felt his stomach tighten.

"I don't like people hiding things from me," he said flatly, startling Remus with his tone, "or keeping secrets with the excuse that it's really better for _me_. It isn't."

"It's nothing like _that_, Harry," Remus said immediately, frowning a bit. "Although you might have a point, now that I think about it, so I apologize." Harry flushed.

"I didn't mean to –"

"No, you have every right to feel that way and nothing to apologize for. I just didn't –" Remus sighed and turned around to lean against the sink as he continued. "Sirius had some special problems when he was, well, dating, and as much as I hope you never have anything like this ever happen to you, it _is_ something you ought to know about."

"Go on," Harry prompted, as Remus seemed unsure how to continue. The older man ran a hand through his graying hair.

"Sirius was considered quite a catch at the time," Remus began. "He was attractive in his own right, of course, and very popular while we were in school, and the Black family is – was – one of the older pure blood families. That might not have meant much to Sirius, but there are plenty of people who do care about that sort of thing. Even when he was effectively disowned after he ran away, well, that probably only made him seem more attractive to some people – exciting, you know. And he _was_ still the oldest son. It's not unheard of for those sorts of family breaches to heal in time, especially once there are grandchildren in the picture. Then he inherited some money from his uncle, so he was in a decent position financially even if that never happened."

"Yeah, I knew about that part," Harry said, not sure where this was going.

"There were witches – more than one over the years, I'm afraid – who had the idea that having a child with him would be a good way to get him to marry," Remus said carefully. "There are things you can do – potions, hexes, a few counter-charms – to make a pregnancy more likely, even negating the effects of the contraceptive protections a wizard would normally use." It took a minute for Harry to absorb this, and his eyes widened when he did.

"That's –" Harry was at a loss for words.

"Well, highly illegal for starters, but I'm afraid it _does_ happen," Remus continued regretfully. "I don't think that Sirius would have allowed himself to be forced into marriage, but then I knew him rather well, and there are enough wizards who _do_ end up in such marriages to encourage that type of witch. Even if they hadn't married, the mother of his child would have been entitled to a level of financial support from him, and would probably have received a good deal of sympathy in certain circles. She would also have been a permanent part of his life, and in an excellent position if he ever did decide to settle down."

Harry was still dumbfounded. "That seems so –"

"Calculating? Unromantic? Unethical?" Remus suggested. "I agree with you, but then not everyone shares that view." Another thought occurred to Harry, and his brain shut down for a moment.

"Did he ever –" Remus lifted a brow in inquiry and Harry tried again. "Are you saying that he had a _child_?"

"No, Harry, of course not," the older man denied immediately. "Even if anyone had ever succeeded in that type of trickery, Sirius would _never_ have abandoned his child to be raised by such a woman." Remus sounded quite positive, which was a bit of a relief as Harry felt he'd had more than his share of shocks that day – particularly since they'd only finished washing up the breakfast dishes. "Sirius was very sensitive to, oh, call it manipulation. I think it was partly due to the environment he grew up in, but he seemed to have a sixth sense for detecting it – and, as I said before, he was very careful in choosing his partners, even if it might not have seemed that way to outsiders at the time." Remus straightened up and removed the last pan from Harry's grasp. "I suppose that's just another argument for not having sex with people you can't trust – not that I think you needed it particularly – but I wouldn't be surprised if you had similar problems when you leave school."

"_Me?_"

Remus was regarding him with compassion. "I _don't_ want to make you afraid to have sex, Harry, and I hate having to tell you this, but you probably _do_ need to be rather more careful than some of your school mates will need to be," he told him gently. "As long as you're at school, you'll probably know – or at least be able to find about – most of the people you're likely to consider in that way. Once you've left – well, you're going to be considered at least as good a catch as Sirius was, Harry. You may have opportunities at times when you don't have the same information about your prospective partners available."

Remus started to stack the dry plates that needed to be put away, adding lightly, "All of which is a rather roundabout way to suggest that you pay careful attention when Filius does the section on contraceptive charms."

> > > 

A/N – Sorry about the long interval in updating, which was recently brought to my attention by a reviewer! I'll really have to hustle to get this done before it becomes AU, but I hope it will get going a little more quickly again now. Comments and even (constructive) criticism are always welcome - as would be any suggestions for section dividers that actually upload onto the system here!


	28. Position, Symbol, or Person?

A/N - To answer one reviewer's question, yes, this is going somewhere, although it may not all be immediately apparent (I'd hate to spoil the surprise). To another, thank you, and more conversations included!

> > > > > > >

Harry's brain was still churning a bit when he returned to the room he shared with Ron, who was just crumpling up another piece of parchment with an expression of intense frustration.

"Hey," Harry greeted him absently. Ron glared at him helplessly.

"How are you supposed to ask your girlfriend if she's ever, er, you know?" he demanded incoherently. "What if she's offended? Won't she be offended? I mean, isn't it an insulting question? Unless, that is – aauugghh!" Ron gave up and threw himself on his bed, crossing his arms defensively.

Harry looked over at the litter of wadded up parchment. "Maybe you better wait until she gets here," he suggested. "At least you could apologize right away if she gets mad."

"You mean, _wait_?" Ron demanded in tones that indicated the idea was unthinkable.

"Well, why would you think she might have, er –"

There was a long silence before Ron answered him. When he did speak, his quiet intonations were a noticeable change from his earlier speech, and all he said was, "Viktor."

"_Ron,_" Harry began helplessly, but his best friend sat up and swung his legs over the bed to face Harry across the narrow space of floor that separated them.

"He's a lot older than we are," Ron pointed out, "and so is Hermione. Well, not enough that she's not in our year, but she's one of the oldest students in our class. And everyone always says girls mature faster than boys do. And he came to visit her when she was on holiday last summer, when she was already sixteen. She was even with him at Christmas!"

This time it was Harry who fell silent for a long moment.

"I'm not sure I agree with you," he began carefully, holding up a hand to stop Ron who looked like he was going to argue, "but I'd like to know whether it would matter. Even if she did, what does that mean?" He took a deep breath. "Are you going to stop dating her?"

Ron looked like Harry had just slapped him in the face. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Well, it seems to be upsetting you," Harry said evenly, trying to keep his voice soothing the way Remus did so much of the time, "and I just wondered why you wanted to know. What difference would it make?"

Ron's ears were getting very red.

"Well," he said awkwardly, "I sort of thought we might, er,"

"Yeah."

"Not right away," Ron assured him hastily, "but, you know, _someday_."

Harry nodded, hoping he was looking more encouraging than uncomfortable.

"And well, I've never, er –" The red in Ron's ears was spreading forward and down, creeping across his face and neck and the part of his chest that was visible above the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah," Harry said quickly. "I mean, me either." They exchanged embarrassed grins.

"So, if we ever _did_, er –"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I'd want to, er –"

Harry didn't understand what Ron was trying to say this time, and could only look puzzled.

"I mean, she _deserves_, er –"

"Yes?" Harry prompted, still confused. Ron took a deep breath.

"What if I'm not any good?" he asked all in a rush.

"_Oh_."

Not an aspect of the situation that had occurred to Harry.

"Because I'm not sure everyone _is_ right away," Ron continued doggedly, still very red, "but I'd be, er, more, well, comfortable if we were both, er –"

"At the same level?" Harry suggested tactfully.

"Yeah." Having apparently gotten through the worst of it, Ron let out some breath he had evidently been holding in and started to talk a little more normally. "And if she _has_, well, she's going to be comparing me to _Viktor Krum_. And he's the youngest player to ever –"

"I don't think that there's anything about being good at Quidditch that's going to help with this," Harry interjected. "I'd be a lot less worried about it myself if I thought it would." Ron perked up a little.

"You're worried too?"

"_Now_ I am," Harry said a bit edgily. "I wasn't when I came in."

"Oh. Sorry, mate," Ron said rather sheepishly.

"S'okay," Harry sighed, rubbing at his temple a little. His headache was not going away. "To be fair about it, I _was _worried when I came in, but it was about witches trying to get pregnant so I'd have to marry them." Seeing Ron's expression, he explained, "Sirius used to have that problem," and saw immediate comprehension dawn in his best friend's eyes. "Remus told me when we were washing up in the kitchen. I think he felt really bad about having to warn me about stuff – people doing things to mess up contraceptive charms. Did you ever hear about that?"

"Well, yeah," Ron said, his face screwed up in concentration, "but just bits and pieces. Gossip, mostly." He shrugged. "It's illegal, so people don't talk about it much. It's not very easy to _prove_ – I mean, by the time there's a bun in the oven, all the evidence is gone, so what's a bloke to do then? Either you get married or you don't, but if it's yours, you'll have to pay up." Ron grinned then. "Not that we Weasleys have to worry about _that_ part of it. Dad didn't even bother with that stuff when we had _The Talk_."

Harry groaned and fell back on his bed with a thump. "Well, Remus told me I have to pay attention. Especially about stuff that interferes with contraceptive charms."

"Tough luck," Ron said cheerfully. "Having to worry about being chased by hordes of gorgeous witches, just panting to –"

The advantage of a small room was that the pillow didn't have very far to travel when thrown from Harry's bed into Ron's face.

"I'd settle for being _normal_," Harry retorted.

"Did your dad have the same problem?" Ron asked curiously.

"Don't think so." Harry's voice grew softer. "He was with my mum."

"That makes sense."

"Yeah, but it doesn't _help_."

"You just need to get a girlfriend," Ron announced, in the tone of one providing a clear and obvious answer to a simple question.

"Oh, really?" Harry retorted. "And that'll solve all my problems?"

"Well, only the one," Ron said fairly.

Harry gave him a pointed look until Ron rolled his eyes.

"Okay, you'll get new ones. And none of this is actually helping me with mine."

"I can't think of anything that _will_ help you with that," Harry admitted. "I mean, it's not like I, er –"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence, more comfortable this time.

"Have you thought about asking her?" Harry ventured.

Ron closed his eyes in resignation and then opened them again.

"I was _trying_ to write to ask her when you came in," he pointed out with ill-concealed impatience. "It wasn't going very well."

"No, I mean –" Harry wondered if he was getting red now – his face felt hot again – but he ploughed on. "I mean _asking_ her." Ron was looking confused. "You know. _Someday._ I mean, when you actually, er –"

Comprehension dawned, and Ron appeared to consider this.

"Because then you could avoid the whole Viktor discussion," Harry suggested helpfully.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, sounding more hopeful. "If I just ask her what she, er –"

"Yeah."

"That just seems like I'm being, you know, _nice_ about it. _Considerate_, even. Asking her what –"

"Yeah."

"And I think she'd probably _tell _me," Ron said, now sounding relieved as well. "If I asked, that is."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Hermione would."

> > > > > > > >

Excerpt from a letter from Ginevra Weasley to Hermione Granger:

" … _Well, it took a little while to get Mum even sort of calm after that, and she didn't really return to normal until Dad came home after work and got her settled down. Of course, he had all the boys before me while Mum hasn't had to have The Talk with anyone else. I tried to make it as easy on her as I could, but I think she would have been happier if I'd been the one who was upset. _

_Now I'm really looking forward to your arrival to distract her from fretting about me for a while – Mum has never had you and Ron under her roof while you were dating, and I suspect she's going to be a lot more worried about making sure the two of you are behaving yourselves while you're here! It's a little silly, as it's not like you won't have any other opportunities once you go back to school._

_Harry and Ron have been very preoccupied ever since then too (well, with my brother I should say more than usual) although I haven't figured out why yet. They both left to do the washing up with Professor Lupin while Mum had me cornered at the breakfast table, so I've no idea what set them off. Well, Harry hasn't been that bad – I think he was avoiding me a bit at first, but he seems to be getting over it. Ron, on the other hand, is decidedly upset about something, but he isn't telling me what it is. I think you're going to have to drag it out of him when you get here …"_

Excerpt of reply from Hermione Granger to Ginevra Weasley:

"… _when I arrive next week. I'm desperate to get to Diagon Alley and get our new school books. I tried to get them before we left on holiday – Flourish and Blotts had the lists already so they could order the required texts in sufficient quantities – but even though they knew what texts I would need, they only had a few of them in stock, so this holiday with my parents is leaving me horribly behind in my studies._

_Ron wrote me the strangest letter – I got it just before I got yours – and I think you're right about something bothering him, but I couldn't figure out what it was from what he sent, which was very confusing. I'll try and sort it out when I get there, although he does have a tendency to dance around what's bothering him instead of just getting to the point. As fond as I am of him, it's rather irritating at times, although to be fair about it there seem to be a lot of boys with that problem. Do you think it's just their age (so they'll grow out of it, I hope) or are some men just like this?_

_My parents took the Krums out to dinner while we were in Vienna, and I found out from Viktor …"_

Excerpt of a letter from Remus Lupin to Alex Brent:

" … _Harry's Apparition lessons are going very well, although I think he finds the fact that there are six of us watching over him and Ron during their lessons rather irksome. It really isn't an excessive number, just two of us at each end, plus one trailer for each of the boys – which has been very useful in Ron's case as he's popped up in some very strange places, including the ladies' loo at a shopping centre some miles away from his target! Harry is being fairly tolerant of the security – all things considered – but I don't think that will last much beyond graduation. He's going to want to do some perfectly normal things – like date – without wondering if Moody is going to pop up warning him about 'constant vigilance'. His lessons also gave me an opportunity to bring him by the house so that he'll be able to find it if he ever needs to._

_I'll be home on Monday for the full moon, of course, and I'm planning to spend Tuesday night there as well. I don't expect it's likely during the middle of the week, but if you happen to be free …"_

> > > > > >

Remus tapped his wand and dispatched his letter to Alex with a sigh. He missed her, and letters just weren't the same. His time at Sturgis' home was wearing on him a bit when the August moon approached.

It wasn't that he didn't like Sturgis, because he did. He also liked the Weasleys, and Hermione, although she hadn't arrived yet (Harry went without saying), but he would have liked the visit a lot more if it hadn't put a complete stop to his getting to spend any time with Alex. He knew it was only temporary – just a matter of weeks – but then, they'd only been lovers for a matter of weeks. Considering that he was unemployed and Alex did not, by some reckonings, even _exist_, it was amazing how many demands there were on their time.

When they talked about the visit, Alex had made it clear that she regarded this time over the summer when he and Harry were staying with Sturgis as Harry's time, and she had been absolutely insistent that she did not want to interfere – even a little – with his relationship with Harry. At first, Remus thought that she was being overly cautious in not wanting to intrude. Admittedly, the appearance of a relatively unknown witch at Sturgis' home (which was supposed to be protected by a Fidelius charm) would have prompted unanswerable questions, but Remus didn't think they needed to assume that anything would be different with Harry if Remus were occasionally away from the house for a few hours (with an appropriate substitute from the Order if security were an issue).

The discussion with Harry while they washing up the breakfast dishes reluctantly convinced him that Alex had probably been right. That conversation would never have happened if he hadn't been present – and apparently sufficiently approachable – when the subject came up and Harry wanted to talk. Fortunately for Remus, he had a lot of experience washing up the Muggle way from helping his father when he was younger, although it didn't seem to have occurred to Harry that magic would have gotten the job done much more quickly – but then Harry wouldn't have had anything to do with his hands while they talked.

No matter what people said about "quality" time, the truth was that you couldn't talk about something if you weren't _there_. Now, as things stood, Remus couldn't just leave to be with Alex when Harry might need him – not just as a guard in the event of an attack, but only as an older adult to talk to about anything that was on Harry's mind.

The August moon was different, and it was one of the rare moments in his life when he actually had a reason to appreciate his lycanthropy. Harry would be expecting him to be very tired after his transformation, and wouldn't have expected to spend much time with him the day after the moon even if Remus had dragged himself back to Sturgis' place immediately after he changed back – which he'd never done before and no one would have expected. That gave Remus a real opportunity to actually see Alex again before September – if only she could come.

> > > > > > >

Alex tried not to rush through her final exercises too quickly, but Madame Marchbanks gave her a very sharp look as she added the caecilian scales to the potion she was working on, so Alex took a deep breath and forced herself to slow down. She had moved her meeting with the twins to the weekend so that she could start her practical early – Madame Marchbanks was in the process of administering what Alex thought of as her final exams in her current subjects – but she shouldn't be trying to shorten the session after already arranging for it to end early.

"What's next?" Alex asked when her professor finished marking her potion.

"That's it for tonight," Madame Marchbanks said abruptly. "Finish tomorrow."

Alex's eyes flew to the clock, but she forced herself to stick to the program. "We would normally go on for at least another –"

"Not tonight," the old witch cut her off. "Got things to do and I can't do 'em with you hovering, so just take yourself off and no backtalk."

She didn't seem surprised when Alex merely thanked her and darted off again. Instead, the elderly instructress only tottered over to the bookcase and selected a book to read to pass the unexpected free time she had acquired when she realized that she actually had a student too well disciplined to ask for even _one _night off in over a year of study.

"All these years of teaching, and _now_ you send me such a student," she grumbled, raising her eyes heavenward before settling them down on the page.

> > > > > >

Many miles away, Alex hesitated before tapping carefully on the kitchen door. As much as she wanted to see Remus, she didn't want to wake him if he was getting some much needed rest, so she tried to make sure her knock was loud enough without being _too _loud.

If the speed with which the door was opened was any indication, she needn't have worried.

"You're not too tired?" she asked anxiously. He looked tired, but not normally tired, if one could describe his usual appearance after a moon as 'normally' tired. There was an odd energy about him over the weariness, rather as if someone had given him a shot of adrenaline that was masking the exhaustion. "Because I -"

"Not for you," he interrupted firmly. "But let's go into the study to sit down," he suggested. "Unless I can get you something to eat first?"

Alex shook her head and let Remus lead her into the study, although she certainly hadn't had a proper supper and couldn't really remember whether she had picked up a snack on the way to Madame Marchbanks. But she was _not_ going to let Remus cook for her when he was tired, and anyway, it didn't really seem to matter when the alternative was snuggling with him in the study.

Remus told her all about life in Clapham – and the Weasleys – and how Harry was doing – even though he had written her about much of it already. He told her about a new novel he found in Sturgis' library, and his worries for Harry, and what Molly had made for supper the night before he left. Alex listened and made appropriate noises when he paused for breath, which was surprisingly infrequently. They were in the habit of talking to each other quite a bit when they were together, but tonight the words seemed to pour out of Remus as though they had finally been released from a long confinement. But then all of a sudden, he stopped. Alex lifted her head in response.

"What's wrong?"

His amber eyes were warm with rueful embarrassment. "Why didn't you stop me from babbling on like this? Hearing that Sturgis has a habit of using his eggs to cover up the biggest yellow flower on his plate every morning doesn't exactly count as scintillating conversation."

"I like hearing you talk," she explained, resuming her previous position, from which she could feel the rumble of his chest when he laughed. But he did go on talking, his voice dangerously soothing.

She was never really sure which of them fell asleep first.

She was certain that she awoke first (which was rather unusual to begin with) because to her everlasting regret she woke Remus. She had slipped an arm around him that was trapped between him and the sofa, and despite her efforts to be very careful – which were probably hampered by the fact that most of that arm was asleep – he woke as soon as she started to withdraw it.

"Sorry," she whispered very softly. "Go back to sleep."

"You're leaving?" he murmured sleepily, reaching out to clasp her other hand as she rose.

"Work. Probably better if I show up today showered and wearing different clothes," she pointed out as their fingers intertwined of their own volition.

"I suppose," he admitted with a slow smile. "Are you still free the first weekend in September? I won't press my luck by imagining you might have some free time during the week twice in a row."

"Well, I'll be in town that week with the usual things scheduled, but there's always a possibility that something might change," she said carefully, starting to bend down to kiss him good-bye then deciding against it. In response to the silent inquiry of his eyes, she explained, "Possible morning breath," which made him smile.

"I'll chance it if you will," he teased, so she laughed and gave him his kiss before she left.

> > > > > >

Harry hadn't expected to see Remus just coming in the front door as he went down to breakfast. The older man's face bore the usual signs of the strain of his transformation, but he also looked oddly, well, _cheerful_.

"You're back?" Harry asked, rather stupidly he realized immediately. "I mean, we weren't expecting you until later."

"Once I was awake, there didn't seem to be much point in hanging around an empty house," Remus pointed out with a smile, adding in a very loud stage whisper as Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen into the hall, "especially if I'd have to miss Molly's wonderful cooking."

Mrs. Weasley cast him a slightly surprised look, but Remus only grinned at her, slinging a companionable arm around Harry's shoulders for a moment as he did so.

"Oh, go on with you," she replied, trying to sound stern but too pleasantly flustered to manage it very well. "You'd best get in there while it's hot. I serve breakfast the same time every morning, so I don't know why everyone can't just come without being called." The latter grumbling seemed to be directed at the stragglers still upstairs, so when Remus winked at Harry and headed into the dining room, Harry smiled happily and followed. They could hear Mrs. Weasley in the hall sending Ginny back up the stairs with a fairly colorful message for Ron.

"Good morning, Hermione," Remus greeted her as she came in. "Did you have a good trip?"

"It was very nice, Professor, although the plane was late into Heathrow yesterday, and I ended up not arriving here until almost bedtime," Hermione replied as she seated herself. "But I _still_ haven't received my book list yet! I got the list from Flourish and Blotts as it stood before I left, but with our letters so late this year, I'm wondering if they changed it –"

The mystery of the missing letters was solved not long after breakfast, when the Hogwarts owl bringing their school lists arrived, dropping Harry's in front of him on the small desk in the bedroom he shared with Ron before rushing out again – into the hallway rather than out the window, presumably to make another delivery.

Harry felt the weight of the letter in his palm and groaned inwardly. If the weight of the letter was anything to go by, their book lists this year would be horrific. As he unsealed his message, he wondered how the Weasleys were going to manage. At least the twins and Percy were no longer students, but they still had to buy all of Ron's and Ginny's too.

A badge dropped out on the table.

Harry stared at it for a moment, turning it over to make sure it was what he thought it was.

Then he checked the letter, just to be sure.

Head Boy.

He was _Head Boy_.

He could hear Hermione calling for Ron, and guessed immediately that she had been named Head Girl. Footsteps rushed by in the hall, and he could hear a babble of voices rising and falling in waves. Soon he would have to go out there, or someone would come in.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Remus standing in the doorway. The older man's eyes fell on the badge and he smiled. "Congratulations," he added, coming over to clasp Harry on the shoulder.

"Er, thanks," Harry said blankly, still trying to absorb it. After the Headmaster had decided not to make him a prefect two years earlier, he hadn't really expected to be made Head Boy. Of course, Remus said that his father hadn't been a prefect either. "Do you think –" Harry began, seeking an answer in the amber eyes of their only surviving friend.

"They would have been _very_ proud of you, Harry," Remus told him immediately, and then the room seemed to fill with people and there was no time to say anything else.

"Harry, _look_," Hermione ordered, holding her badge carefully in both hands and beaming. "And you're Head Boy?" she added, spotting his badge and beaming more broadly. "Isn't it wonderful? I was hoping, but I was afraid to hope _too_ hard in case I didn't get it. After all, Mandy Brocklehurst did really well on her O.W.L.s – or they could have selected someone with more popular appeal, like –"

"Don't be absurd, Hermione, of course it was going to be you," Ron told her warmly, slipping his arm around her in a rare display of affection in front of his parents. "You deserve it," he assured her, pressing a light kiss to her temple. Hermione seemed to lean into his arms a bit, even though her eyes were still fixed on the badge. "And you too, Harry," he added. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Harry repeated, wondering why he wasn't feeling quite what he thought he would. Ron had congratulated him warmly, but there had been a faint hint of something in his eyes – _Ron wanted it,_ he realized too late. Then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny came in to congratulate them, and the moment passed.

After Ginny congratulated him, she added in a mischievous undertone, "Try not to turn into Percy," which was obscurely comforting.

> > > > >

The remainder of Harry's stay passed all too quickly. At that point, there was only a little over a week remaining before they returned to school, and it suddenly seemed like there was a great deal left to do. Hermione was anxious – almost desperate – to get to Diagon Alley to get the rest of her books as soon as possible. Harry and Ron needed to get their books as well, but they were much more interested in testing for their Apparition tickets. This required a visit to the Ministry of Magic. Harry hadn't set a foot inside the building since, well, since _it_ happened more than a year ago, a fact which hadn't registered in his brain until he saw the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

"All right, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked when Harry faltered slightly.

"Fine, thanks," Harry assured him, but Ron sent him a sympathetic glance as Moody hurried them on.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it, as he needed to focus his attention on the Apparition examination. The witch who administered the test did so with an air of competence, despite the fact that she recited the instructions in the mechanical tones of someone who has repeated the same words far too many times by rote. Even though Remus had explained the testing procedure to him beforehand, Harry listened very carefully just the same. He did not want to have to retake this – not only would it be embarrassing, but it would also require him to impose on a lot of other people, like Mr. Weasley, who were arranging their schedules to be able to accompany him. This wouldn't have been an issue if he were allowed to go on his own – he was seventeen, for heaven's sake – but he was perfectly well aware of what the reaction to _that_ would have been.

After all of his drilling with Remus, the test was not all that difficult, and Harry was confident that he passed even before the witch handling his examination said, "Congratulations, Mr. Potter," with a perfunctory smile. "You may pick up your ticket at the sixth floor reception desk on your way out."

Ron was still waiting his turn when Harry got back to the little reception room of the Apparition Test Centre. When the same witch who had tested Harry read, "_Ronald Bilius Weasley_," off her clipboard, Ron swallowed visibly as he rose to follow her out, but then he was forced to wait as his name attracted her attention. She looked up and scanned the room, spotting Mr. Weasley waiting patiently in one of the institutional chairs. "Another one of yours, Arthur?" she asked, giving him a half-smile. "How many do you have left?"

"Just one," he returned comfortably. "I expect you'll see Ginny in here about a year from now."

"Maybe time for me to start thinking about retiring," she told him. "Never thought I'd run out of Weasleys to test!" She looked over at Ron with more interest than she had shown Harry, although he didn't seem to be in the proper frame of mind to appreciate it just then. "Well, let's see how you do. No shopping centers on the official test today, so if you land in one, you'll know you're in the wrong place." Apparently this was meant to be humorous, so Ron managed a weak smile as he followed her out the door.

"Shopping centers?" Harry asked, going over to take a seat by Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley chuckled.

"Charlie's first test," he said reminiscently. "Landed in the middle of one – had to obliviate one of the shoppers. Very embarrassed at the time, but it seems a little funnier now. And he passed the next time."

"Oh."

"Congratulations, Harry," Mr. Weasley said kindly, nodding at him. "Nicely done, passing first try."

"Thank you, sir."

"Not that you'll have much chance to use it for a while, of course, as you'll be back at Hogwarts for a time." He said this so casually that it caught Harry's attention.

_That's why they arranged my test so late_, Harry concluded silently. _They didn't want me Apparating anywhere without supervision – and I won't be able to Apparate at all while I'm at Hogwarts._

Instead of replying to Mr. Weasley, Harry made a non-committal noise and settled back in his chair to wait for Ron.

He occupied himself in the interval watching the witches and wizards passing in the hallway just outside the Apparition Test Center, which was the same thing that Moody was doing except that Harry didn't see any reason to glare at what were probably perfectly innocent strangers. A fair number of these seemed to be heading down the hall toward Broom Regulatory Control carrying their broomsticks, most of which had odd yellow or orange tags on the handles, although Harry did see one being dragged along by an embarrassed looking older witch which had a strange sort of puffy blue ring that looked like it was growing out of the tail. Harry was just wondering how it could possibly fly in that condition when the blue ring pulsed purple, and an official sounding – and rather snippy – voice announced loudly, "_This broomstick has been impounded as a result of multiple violations of the transportation code, and cannot be restored to use until all pending charges are cleared. For further information, report to the Department of Magical Transportation, Broom Regulatory Control._"

Mr. Weasley saw the direction of Harry's gaze. "If you ever get tagged, Harry, just come in and pay the fine and get it over with," he advised. "Not saying you can't contest it, but show up and _do_ it if you're going to. They get very testy in B.R.C. if you don't respond to their notices, especially with multiple violations."

Most of the other witches and wizards who passed before Ron returned were not quite as interesting, although there was a large deputation of goblins headed for the office of the Floo Regulation Panel. Harry was trying to decide whether the nasty expressions on their faces were unusual or just the way they normally looked when his best friend finally emerged from the examination area. Ron's face was split in an enormous grin not untinged with relief.

"You made it?" Harry asked unnecessarily.

"First try!" Ron told him happily. "Better than Charlie!"

"Now, Ron," Mr. Weasley said mildly.

"S'okay, Dad," Ron assured him quickly, still beaming. "Charlie'll be happy for me."

Mr. Weasley had to return to work once he and Moody had delivered the boys safely back to Sturgis' home in Clapham, so it wasn't too long before Harry had a chance to confirm his suspicions.

"Did you ever think about trying to get your ticket earlier in the summer?" Harry asked, hoping he was doing a better job sounding casual than Mr. Weasley had. Fortunately Ron was still too excited to be paying much attention. "After all, you were already of age when term ended last year."

"Well, yeah, but Dad asked if I wanted to start on my own, or wait and take lessons with you when you got here, so of course I said I wanted to take lessons with you," Ron said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Looking over at Ron's honest freckled face, Harry felt a wave of affection for his best friend.

"Thanks, Ron," he said simply, and let it go at that.

> > > > > > >

The general atmosphere at Sturgis' home when their escort arrived to take them to Platform nine and three-quarters was decidedly chaotic, with the exception of Remus (who almost always appeared reassuringly serene) and Sturgis (who lived there and didn't have to worry about packing anything or leaving anything behind). Mrs. Weasley had made them a very nice combination "going away" and celebratory supper the previous evening – for Harry and Ron for getting their tickets, and for Harry and Hermione for being named Head Boy and Head Girl – which fortunately kept her in the kitchen a large part of their last day. She had tried to make everyone's favorite dishes, which resulted in a large and varied menu, and the twins had joined them for supper, bringing with them a large supply of Butterbeer as their contribution to the meal. As a result, Harry went to bed pleasantly sated and quite happy.

In the morning, however, Mrs. Weasley kept fluttering in and out of the bedrooms with clean clothes and motherly questions about whether they had remembered to pack all their new books. She was frequently interrupted by Mr. Weasley asking her whether she had remembered to pack various items that needed to go back to The Burrow – and what happened to his brown socks – and that parchment he was working on – and reminding his wife that they really needed to get going if they were going to stick to the schedule, although they were planning to arrive so early that perhaps a _small_ delay would be acceptable if it meant they were able to locate that book Sturgis was lending him, and had she seen it anywhere?

Hermione – who was the main instigator in the plan to arrive at the platform so remarkably early this year – was naturally already packed. However she was still suffering from the delay in getting her textbooks for the upcoming year and had her head buried in one of them, shutting out the distractions around her so effectively that when it was time to leave, she ignored several increasingly loud calls and didn't even look up until Ron took the book out of her hands to get her attention. After several years of friendship and some months of dating, he was shrewd enough to mark her place for her when he took it.

Their actual arrival at Kings Cross Station reminded Harry once again that this would be his last year at Hogwarts – his last time pushing the trolley containing his trunk and Hedwig's cage on to the platform, at least as a student. He supposed it had to come some time, and at least he was alive to enjoy it. More than just alive, he was Head Boy. _Head Boy_, just like his father. Would his parents have been proud of him? Would Sirius? Remus had _said_ so, but, well, it would have been nice to really _know_ –

"Look sharp," Moody barked, recalling his attention. Harry glanced guiltily over at the older man, wondering if it was obvious that his mind had been wandering, but the older man's magical eye – carefully hidden beneath the lowered brim of one side of his hat – was whirling around in its usual fashion and his normal eye was looking in quite another direction. "Something's not right," he added, frowning more darkly than usual.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, looking around the station anxiously. It was oddly subdued.

"Atmosphere," Moody muttered. "Done this a few times now, y'know. Station was never like this. Doesn't feel right. Maybe we'd better –"

Hermione made a noise then, sort of like she had started to cry out and choked at the same time. Harry's hand was on his wand before he realized he was reaching for it.

"What is it, Hermione?" Remus asked, quietly urgent. She looked very strange, stunned and sick at the same time.

"It's –" her voice broke off abruptly, and Harry caught at her sleeve with his free hand while Ron moved protectively closer. "I'm fine," she told them, sounding anything but. "I just – I'm going to buy a paper." She was on her way before Moody could do more than start to bark out an objection.

Being Hermione, she bought not one newspaper, but apparently one of every type the newsagent had for sale, staring at the front page of the one uppermost in the stack for a long moment before rejoining the group. Moody's expression was thunderous.

"Platform," he directed grimly. "_Now!_"

Hermione entered obediently enough, but still looked ghastly.

"Hermione, what's _wrong_?" Ron demanded once they were safely on the platform, but she only shook her head.

"Later."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but waited with until all the trunks were loaded (Harry and Hermione had a separate compartment, which Harry had resolved to have Ron share with them even if they had to leave his trunk in Ginny's care so it would look like he was just visiting) and Hermione had opened Crookshanks' cage to let the huge striped cat thump lazily on to the floor before re-opening the subject.

"Why did you get all those?" Ron asked, referring to the large stack of newspapers on the seat.

Hermione took a deep breath. "The Princess of Wales is dead," she informed them quietly.

"What?" Harry echoed stupidly, sitting down abruptly on the seat across from Hermione.

"Her car was being chased by paparazzi, and crashed in a tunnel in Paris. She died shortly after."

"Oh."

It was a stupid thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything that wasn't, and he didn't understand this sudden sense of loss. He'd never even _met _her - why did he feel this way? He felt Remus' hand on his shoulder, and looked up into sympathetic amber eyes. "I didn't even _know_ her," he blurted out helplessly, while across from him Ron was slipping a supportive arm around his girlfriend – and asking her to explain "paparazzi" to him.

"That doesn't mean you can't mourn her," Remus told Harry kindly.

"But it doesn't make any _sense,_" he protested.

"Harry," Remus took a seat beside him for a moment as Ron spoke quietly to Hermione, "public figures are in the very difficult position of being both ordinary people and symbols of something else. The people who knew as a person her will mourn the loss of the woman they knew, while the rest of the world will mourn the loss of what they believed her to be and the things she meant to them. There's nothing wrong with that, you know."

"You think that's like me, don't you?" Harry asked in a moment of sudden insight. "Me and the _Boy Who Lived_? The real person and the symbol."

"In many ways, yes – although I would prefer it if you could manage to live a little longer," Remus told him dryly. "There are people who look at you and see what you _represent_ rather than who you _are_. I rather believe Voldemort might be one of them." He saw Harry's start of surprise. "Do you think he understands you the way Ron does? Or even Seamus or Dean?"

"No, I suppose not," Harry said slowly, not sure what to make of this idea.

"It was just an observation, Harry, I wasn't suggesting that the two of you go into counseling," Remus told him with a deliberate touch of humor. "But there's no reason why you can't mourn the death of someone you've never met. I've never met her myself, but I am sorry she died. She made people feel that she cared about them even when the rest of the world did not, and that's a very rare talent."

"I never thought about it that way," Harry admitted, adding, "thanks," a little awkwardly, but no longer feeling his reaction was quite so stupid.

He needed that assurance as the morning progressed.

The usual noisy bustle of students and parents present on Platform nine and three-quarters was absent as the time for the Hogwarts Express to depart neared. The students and parents were present, of course, just as they had been every other year, but most of them were oddly subdued. There was a painful constraint over the normal activities of getting trunks – and students – loaded and the typical leave-takings accompanied by parental admonitions.

Once Hermione got over the initial shock of the news, she again became conscious of their new obligations as Head Boy and Head Girl and suggested that they see what they could do to help the arriving students. As Remus had smiled encouragement at the idea ("You'll be safe enough on the platform, Harry, although some of us will remain in the area until the train departs just so you don't find yourselves stranded here if there's a problem with the train,") and Harry was resolved to do his best at this Head Boy business (although he had a lowering feeling that he ought to know more than he actually did about what a Head Boy was supposed to do) he decided to follow Hermione's advice.

At first there weren't many students around – and those who were didn't appear to need anything – but then Harry caught sight of a much younger boy he didn't recognize struggling to hoist his own trunk into one of the nearby compartments. He stepped automatically over to lend a hand, crossing the distance in two long-limbed strides.

"Thanks," the boy said politely, punctuating the courtesy with a sigh of relief before looking up to see who had assisted him. The boy's eyes widened. "You're – you're –"

_Here we go again_, Harry thought ruefully, but after everything he had been through – and knowing what he still had to face – the _Boy Who Lived_ nonsense was a fairly minor irritation. "Harry Potter," he said, introducing himself as though unaware of any significance his name might have and extending a hand. "This is your first year at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir," he gulped. "Nathan, sir. I mean, _Turner_, sir. Nathan Turner."

"You don't have to call me 'sir' Nathan, but welcome to Hogwarts. See you at the sorting." Harry left with a cheerful wave and stepped back over to where Ron was just stepping out of his compartment, having brought his sister some of Hermione's newspapers to read.

"First year?" Ron asked knowingly.

"Yeah."

"Were we ever that young?"

Harry grinned back at him. "Maybe I should have told him to keep the windows closed if he buys any chocolate frogs," he joked.

"You've still got plenty of time," Ron retorted cheerfully, "since Hermione insisted on getting here so early. I'm surprised there are _any_ other students here yet. I thought we'd be the first."

"Ron," Harry began hesitantly, "I want to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth." Maybe it wasn't the best time to bring it up, but there hadn't been a good opportunity since he got the badge and there might not be a better one. "Are you upset about my being made Head Boy?" He met Ron's honest brown eyes with genuine concern. "I know you wanted it."

The silence before Ron answered seemed unusually long to Harry, although it was really on a second or two.

"Yes, Harry, I did," Ron confessed quietly. "But I'm not upset that you got it. You _deserve_ it, Harry. We both know Dumbledore should have made you prefect as well, but he didn't. Were you mad at me for getting that?"

"No, of course not," Harry denied immediately, but he owed Ron the same honesty his friend had showed him. "But I was kind of mad at Dumbledore for a while," he admitted painfully.

"You're my best friend, Harry, and there's no one else I would rather have as Head Boy than you," The honest intensity in Ron's eyes warmed him, but he understood when Ron added jokingly, "Besides, who else would I trust to spend so much time alone with my girl?"

> > > > > >

Reviews and (constructive) criticism are always welcome!


	29. Moony and the Alpha Cat

As the hour of departure neared, more students and parents arrived and Harry, conscious of his new obligations and determined to do a good job, tried to be everywhere at once, helping with trunks, pointing out empty compartments to groups of students and suggesting those with what Harry silently hoped would be congenial company for the first year students who were alone.

In this atmosphere, the Slytherins – sorted or not – were almost ridiculously easy to pick out. Among the students in the upper classes, only the Slytherins appeared unaffected by either the problems in the wizarding world or the recent death of the Princess of Wales in the Muggle one. Their arrogant assurance that nothing would happen to _them_ was almost unbearably offensive. When Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy, who was just extending a lordly hand to Pansy Parkinson to help her into their compartment, the new Head Boy was forced to turn abruptly on his heel and stride to the other end of the train to avoid disgracing his badge before he even got to Hogwarts.

Even among the first years, there were certain students who exhibited none of the normal qualms that Harry remembered himself and saw in many of the other first years. Harry concentrating on making those who needed it feel more at ease while determinedly ignoring the others.

The trip seemed to fly by more quickly than usual, possibly because Harry seemed to be so busy during most of the journey. After they finally got started on their way, there was a brief meeting with the prefects about patrolling, and then Harry and Hermione did a quick round up and down the length of the train. Once they made it back to their compartment, however, there was a steady stream of visitors – new prefects with questions, members of the former DA who wanted to say 'hi' and discuss the latest news (Hermione's stack of newspapers came in very handy, although they were quickly dismembered as other students borrowed the pages of interest to carry back to their own compartments), and their Gryffindor housemates who wanted to do the same and to extend their congratulations as word of the identities of the new Head Boy and Head Girl began to spread through the train. It was nothing like the trips to school in their early years, and as Harry completed another quick patrol near the end of the journey (trying to suggest to the new first years that it was time to change into their school robes without sounding as snippy as Hermione had when she originally made the suggestion to him and Ron), Harry rather envied those younger students who had their years at Hogwarts ahead of them.

There were the usual unpleasantries, of course. Harry had studiously avoided the compartments housing the upper level Slytherins. Malfoy might have been avoiding Harry as well, although Harry had noted the look on his face when he first saw the actual badge on Harry's robes – disgust, anger, and something else – was it hurt? – that quickly dissolved into his typical sneer. Malfoy did not, however, make any of the comments that Harry had been expecting (at least not directly to Harry), which seemed oddly out of character.

"Malfoy hasn't said anything to me," Harry pointed out to Ron in an undertone as they entered their carriage to wait for Hermione, who was still shooing a few first year stragglers toward Hagrid and the boats.

Ron looked over to where Draco was handing Pansy Parkinson into the carriage with the same lordly air he had used in handing her into their compartment on the train, while Crabbe and Goyle hovered behind them in attendance.

"Well, his father's not on the Board of Governors any more," Ron pointed out. "Can't lord it over everyone like he used to."

"The rest of the Slytherins still seem, well," Harry fumbled.

"Slytherinish?" Ron suggested, grinning mischievously.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, returning the grin.

"I expect he's just as much of a git as he ever was," Ron said casually. "But Malfoy's a real Slytherin to the core. Always looking to see how much he can get away with – and now that you're Head Boy, and Dumbledore's still Headmaster but his father's off the Board of Governors, well, he probably knows he can't get away with quite as much provoking you outright." Ron made a face. "Except in front of Snape, of course. Are you _sure_ you want to keep taking Advanced Potions? Not too late to change your mind."

"I didn't _want _to take it last year, but I needed to then and I suppose I still do," Harry returned absently, watching Draco disappear into the carriage after Pansy Parkinson. Ron's lips compressed.

"Even if he's more careful about provoking you in an obvious way, that just means he's going to get sneakier about it," Ron told him. "Try and do things that are harder to pin on him. Don't expect him to back off just because you're Head Boy."

Harry turned determined green eyes on him. "Draco Malfoy is not the biggest one of my problems," he pointed out evenly, "but if it makes you feel any better, I'll promise never to assume that I'm _safe_."

The irony of the comment was hardly likely to be lost on Ron, who fell silent simply because there was nothing to say.

> > > > > > > >

After the Hogwarts Express had departed safely, Remus went to Diagon Alley to take care of some marketing. Knowing that he was going to be staying with Sturgis, he had deliberately allowed himself to run out of a number of things that didn't make sense to restock when he would be absent for an extended period, but now that he knew what was behind Alex's very careful phrasing about her availability this week, he wanted to get the marketing done as soon as possible in case she was going to be free. He felt a little guilty about wondering if the death of the Princess of Wales might mean that some of Alex's meetings would be canceled, allowing her (he hoped) to spend some time with him before the weekend, but it wasn't as if he had _wanted_ this to happen so he didn't let it bother him _too_ much. Mentally occupied in trying to arrange his errands as efficiently as possible, he was less attentive than he should have been and inadvertently bumped into another customer.

"I beg your pardon," he apologized automatically, even before he realized that the victim of his inattention was Madame Marchbanks. Her face softened very slightly, and he thought she was pleased to see him.

"No harm done, boy," she barked, but without the sharpness she was capable of. "Worse people to bump into," she added, snorting slightly in amusement at the word play.

Remus smiled in acknowledgement. "Well, I am sorry to have 'run into you' in the literal sense, but very pleased to _see_ you. How have you been?" he asked with genuine interest, stepping aside to allow another wizard to pass by as they spoke. While the elderly examiner was held in nearly universal respect, Remus had rather _liked _her as well, even before he found out that she had been helping Alex.

"Well as can be expected," she told him frankly, casting a very sharp look at him. "Hear you know some of what I've been up to lately."

"Yes," he admitted, with a touch of remembered relief crossing his face for a moment. "I was very –" he hesitated briefly searching for the right word, "pleased to hear that." He had wanted to say 'grateful' but that probably sounded too proprietary. A bit presumptuous of him, being grateful for a service she had rendered to Alex – although it was the way he felt about it.

Madame Marchbanks was eyeing him thoughtfully. "Works too hard," she announced, staring at him beadily with a hint of accusation in her eyes.

Remus sighed inwardly. "I promised I wouldn't interfere," he explained simply, and the elder examiner nodded immediately.

"Not surprised," she conceded. "Would've described that one as 'neither to lead nor to drive' in the old days, but that's neither here nor there. Needs to ease up on herself a bit. Cut back on her lessons last week," she informed him.

"You did?" He managed to keep his grin within appropriate limits, but his eyes lit up, even though Alex hadn't mentioned it to him. After all, he hadn't seen her since the moon, almost two weeks before.

"Down to three days a week from five," Madame Marchbanks confirmed, noting his obvious pleasure in response to the news. "Been thinking on it for a while now, but didn't tell her until we finished up the last set. Didn't think she'd kick up as much of a dust after the important stuff was taken care of. Starting with Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, but no trouble to shift 'em around a bit. Tried to get her down to two – days and subjects – but she was determined to keep doing three even if it meant finding another teacher for the third."

Thursday was the day the Order usually met, Remus calculated rapidly, pleased that it was it was one of Alex's class days. A three day schedule of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday made more sense, but Madame Marchbanks had probably not given up on eventually shifting to two days a week instead – unless she knew more about the Order than she had let on so far? He decided not to worry about it and opened his mouth to thank her, but then closed it abruptly, not sure whether it would be fair to do that or if Alex would regard it as interference. He settled for smiling at the diminutive instructor instead.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to believe a response was required. "Good gel at heart, even if she is a bit stubborn," Madame Marchbanks continued. She straightened up then, although the gesture made little difference in her apparent height. "Best be getting on, then. Good to see you, lad."

"Madame Marchbanks," Remus began impulsively, "I was just about to step over to The Leaky Cauldron for a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?" The invitation seemed to surprise her a little, which was quite reasonable as Remus had surprised himself in issuing it.

"Well, I don't say that a cuppa would be an unwelcome sight right about now," she conceded slowly. She took the arm he extended politely with a stately air, and the two of them made their way slowly back to the pub, letting the rest of the shoppers in Diagon Alley swirl by around them.

> > > > > > > >

Swarms of students swirled around the tables in the Great Hall as supper ended their first night back at Hogwarts. Harry was rather pleased that many of the students in other houses came by to congratulate him on his appointment as Head Boy – all the members of the DA who were still in school, Harry realized later, except for Michael Corner – but also some other students who were not members of the DA. Of the latter, two of the Ravenclaws – Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin – stood out in his mind.

Harry hadn't known much about either of them – other than their house and the fact that both girls were in his year – and last year, when Ron and Hermione had started dating, he had wondered if he might be – what did they call it? – _compatible_ with either of them. Mandy was nice looking and pleasant enough when they spoke, but she seemed to be, well, rather _serious_ about everything. Maybe he wasn't being fair about that – no one was actually terribly cheerful at the moment, what with the news lately – but it was hard to work up any enthusiasm about the idea of spending any more time with her. Lisa, on the other hand, had given him a quick flash of a smile at one point that he rather liked, and Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione about her later. The first Hogsmeade weekend wasn't coming up for several weeks, but he really needed to do something about finding someone to date pretty soon. Harry didn't want to be the _only_ seventh year student to remain utterly unattached, especially when he was the Head Boy too, which couldn't help but draw even more attention to his dateless state. Remedying it seemed like something he ought to do, and Lisa seemed like as good a candidate as any other.

While he was mulling over the growing list of 'things he ought to do,' Harry caught sight of the Headmaster just stepping away from a spot near his usual place at the head of the teachers' table, where he was evidently just concluding a conversation with the new DADA teacher. It was difficult to get too worked up about the new teacher either – another witch this year. She hadn't given any Umbridge-like speeches, but she still wasn't Remus.

Some part of Harry had continued to hope that he would get another year with Remus as their DADA professor; his father's friend was still easily the best they'd ever had in that position. He supposed he would have had to go back to calling him Professor Lupin (at least in public) but it would have been worth it to have him back again. Harry had never said anything, but every year since their third, some part of him had wished he would walk into the Great Hall before the Sorting and look up to see Remus seated at the High Table. It was a silly idea, reminding him of his childish wish that someone would take him away from the Dursleys, but it had lingered a little, always in the back of his mind, until it finally died that evening.

"Potter, Granger, you're to report to the Headmaster's office at half past seven sharp tomorrow morning," Professor McGonagall informed them sharply. Harry hadn't noticed her approaching.

"Before breakfast?" he asked thoughtlessly. Professor McGonagall regarded him severely over the precisely positioned frame of her square spectacles.

"Yes, Potter, before breakfast," she returned tartly. "I trust that will not be a problem for you?"

"No, ma'am," Harry replied immediately, aware of Hermione nodding eagerly beside him with Ron at her side. Professor McGonagall nodded at them, and Harry thought she was about to leave, but she said something else first.

"In most cases, the Hogwarts Head Boy and Head Girl have come from different houses," she informed them. "Your joint appointment this year is a _great_ honor for Gryffindor. I trust that your conduct will reflect that." Then her normally formidable expression cracked for a moment in a hint of a smile. "Nicely done, both of you," she informed them, before abruptly turning to leave.

> > > > > > >

Harry woke up fairly early in the familiar comfort of his four poster bed in Gryffindor tower, despite the fact that he and his room mates had stayed up rather late. Mostly, they had talked about what had happened over the summer – Ron had admitted, grinning broadly through the embarrassed color on his face, that he was still seeing Hermione and accepted the resulting (mild) teasing about both their relationship and the fact that he was dating the Head Girl in good spirits. Neville had confessed that his grandmother, having somehow learned of his relationship with Hannah, had offered to invite her and her parents over for tea just before his birthday. This had apparently gone fairly well, prompting Harry to wonder whether Hannah knew about Neville's parents, although he didn't think it was the sort of thing he would have asked even if Seamus and Dean hadn't been there to overhear.

Seamus and Dean were both outwardly in good spirits, but Seamus had made a casual reference to visiting an aunt for a time, as his "Mam took it into her head that it might be safer, what with my dad being a Muggle an' all," and Dean told a very amusing story about one of his sister's misadventures in trying to sneak out to see her boyfriend without really understanding the effect this would have on various protective charms that had been placed on their home. Everyone was carefully glossing over some of the unpleasant news, although there was a strange relief in discussing the death of the Princess of Wales. The indications were that it was an ordinary Muggle death, which made it a safe topic of conversation among the Gryffindor boys in the dormitory.

The discussions of the previous night had, however, reminded Harry that after this year, he would no longer be able to plan on returning to the safety of Hogwarts. Evidently his subconscious had been hard at work while he was sleeping, for when he woke up the following morning, the idea was already in his mind even before he presented himself for the required meeting at the Headmaster's office.

The meeting with the Headmaster went reasonably well. Harry had been a little disconcerted to find Snape there, along with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall, but when Dumbledore explained the duties of the Head Boy and Head Girl to him and Hermione, they didn't sound like anything the two of them couldn't handle.

There was one rather odd moment when the Headmaster was said something that _sounded_ like a compliment, along the lines of their having "demonstrated their ability to handle challenging situations with great presence of mind," but Harry had a sinking feeling that there was more to it than that. He couldn't help wondering what the Headmaster was expecting to happen that would require "presence of mind."

> > > > > > > > >

Charlie was staying with his brother, so he was there as well when Remus joined Bill at his flat after the Thursday meeting of the Order.

"Am I allowed to ask how things are going?" Remus inquired tactfully as he accepted a snifter of brandy. Bill's grin flashed for a moment as he poured out a glass for Charlie, meeting his brother's eyes as he handed him the glass.

"In front of Charlie? Sure – but Mum is another story." Bill sank down onto one of the chairs and stretched his legs out, propping them up on the low table in front of the sofa. "I think I'm starting to see grandchildren in her eyes when she looks at me," he explained in mocking, ominous tones.

Charlie swirled his brandy idly around in the glass. "Better you than me," he contributed with a lazy grin.

"Better either of you than Ginny," Remus interjected with some amusement.

"Is that what set Mum off?" Bill asked curiously, then a frown crossed his face. "Ginny isn't –"

"Another girl in her year," Remus explained quickly. "Ginny got a letter about it over the summer."

"Well, she _is_ about to start her sixth year," Charlie pointed out. "One more year and Mum will be out of chicks to mother." He took a reflective swallow of brandy and glanced over at his brother. "So, when will we be hearing wedding bells, brother mine?" He nudged Bill's leg with his foot, and his brother retaliated by cheerfully kicking Charlie's legs off the table.

"Prat," Bill declared cheerfully.

"Learned from the best," Charlie retorted. The byplay caused Remus to chuckle, which drew Bill's attention.

"So what about you?" Bill asked. "How are things going?" He, too, had tactfully phrased his inquiry generally enough to allow Remus to answer as he wished.

"Very well," Remus replied simply, trying to conceal his instinctive grin by taking another large swallow of brandy. The knowing look on Bill's face was quickly mirrored on Charlie's. "Last night was the first time I'd seen her since Harry went to stay with Sturgis." When Alex's note had arrived late in the morning on Wednesday, Remus had jotted down a quick affirmative and sent it off ruefully, all the time wondering why she would even _ask_? While it was certainly better manners to check with him before just arriving unexpectedly, it also seemed to imply that it was possible that there might be a time when he _didn't_ want to see her, and he couldn't help wishing she understood that.

Charlie winced sympathetically.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Bill suggested.

"Something like that," Remus agreed, trying to keep a decent level of control over his expression – but the memory of his time with Alex was a more potent intoxicant than the brandy. Being with her again after their long time apart had been – well, wonderful. They hadn't bothered with any of the games in the study, being wholly engrossed in their conversation with each other. They had taken advantage of an evening lull in the light rain that had been falling at intervals throughout the day to take a stroll outside, and then the rain had started up again and they had laughingly rushed back to the house, still holding hands. His hands stroking up and down her arms, he had started to offer to lend her a dry jumper, but then their eyes had met, and –

"So, you think this is it?" Charlie was asking his brother as Remus jerked his mind back to his surroundings.

"Yeah," Bill admitted after a noticeable silence. "I'm inviting her home for Christmas with the family this year first, but I think this is it." Charlie simply nodded in understanding. "If it is, you're getting _plenty_ of advance notice," the oldest Weasley son added after a time in a mock-warning tone. Charlie grinned lazily back.

"I think I can keep Mum off my back for a time, even after you're married," he told his brother. "All I'll have to do is keep reminding her of those phantom grandchildren!"

> > > > > > > > >

Alex was supposed to be studying, but she was really struggling with a point of etiquette.

The full moon was approaching – the September one was on a Tuesday in the middle of the month – and she kept wondering whether she ought to offer to stay with Remus during his transformation.

As a cat, obviously.

It seemed like the sort of thing a girlfriend would do – well, if you were an Animagus.

And you were dating a werewolf.

Okay, maybe this didn't come up that often.

But Remus _knew_ she was an Animagus, and had never invited her to join him. Was this the sort of thing she ought to be invited to? It was _his_ transformation. Would it presumptuous of her to mention it?

He had shared it with three of his friends while he was in school, but then they had been very close friends. And the only two of them that had remained his friends were dead. Under the circumstances – especially considering the role she had played in Sirius' death – would he ever want to share it with her? And how was she supposed to find out when she might offend him by bringing it up?

Alex groaned, and pushed her books disconsolately away. There wasn't anything in _A Comprehensive Guide to Ancient Runes_ that would tell her how to deal with this.

**_> > > > > > > > >_**

**_October, 1997_**

For years, when the faculty and staff held their regular meetings, the subject of detentions had only taken a couple minutes at most.

A typical discussion would have one person saying, "I've got two fifth years caught after curfew in the Astronomy Tower for the third time this month. Any takers?" as if they were offering them for sale at an auction. This would be followed by a couple suggestions or comments. Professor Sprout might say, "I've got some honking daffodils that need to be re-potted. Should be two-and-a-half, maybe three hours for a pair." It was always short, simple, and very informal. The faculty and staff all saw each other regularly, and were quite accustomed to talking to each other directly outside meetings.

On this day, however, the staff meeting ran very far over time, largely due to the discussion of detentions that lasted more than an hour and a half. By the time the meeting was over, nearly everyone was noticeably out of sorts.

"Minerva and Severus, could you remain for a few minutes?" the Headmaster asked quietly. It was not an unusual request – Dumbledore often had a private word with his deputies – but his tone was unusually somber. As Minerva and Severus resumed their seats, Dumbledore kept an eye on the door and waited for it to close so he could begin.

"I'm very worried about the school," he said simply. "The level of detentions is only a symptom of a larger problem. Voldemort's impact is being felt even here. Fear, anger, and distrust have taken over the student body in a way I hoped I would never see again. Relations between the houses have deteriorated to the point where I'm sitting down to supper every night wondering whether physical violence will break out. Now I'm starting to see signs of discord _within_ the houses, so it appears to be getting worse."

There was a short silence when the Headmaster finished speaking.

"It sounds as though you are concerned that it may not be possible to prevent an _incident_ from occurring," Severus said coldly, deliberately seeking the Headmaster's light eyes with his own dark ones.

"You're right, of course," Dumbledore replied after another momentary silence, before drawing himself up and turning to face his first deputy. "Minerva, I have reason to believe that Hogwarts won't survive through the end of the school year."

The Head of Gryffindor House was obviously appalled.

"But – _Albus_ –" she managed weakly, a rare glint in her eyes that were suddenly and suspiciously shiny.

"I know," he said gently. "But we have to face it in order to act."

"Won't _survive_?" she repeated. "An attack?" she asked anxiously, looking to Severus briefly before turning back to Albus.

Dumbledore's pale eyes were bleak. "Not Voldemort – at least not directly. There was a fight at the school – more of a short, contained war really – but by every indication, it originated among the students rather than from outside the school. Almost every student was a casualty in one form or another, and more than a hundred were seriously affected – permanently injured or killed outright."

Minerva's hands were pressed over her mouth. "Ye cannae allow –"

"I don't intend to if I can stop it – but I'm not sure I can this time." As he listened to Albus speak, Severus had the feeling that he was very much relegated to the background, as though the other two were having an entirely private conversation despite the fact that neither of them was more than four feet away. "Minerva, I've done everything I can think of to stop this poison from spreading. I've repeated myself so many times on certain subjects that I could spout platitudes in my sleep, and yet I don't think I'm having much of an effect."

"Ye said there was a fight," Minerva noted shakily.

"Yes."

"Did you –" She didn't seem to feel that anything more needed to be vocalized for the Headmaster to understand her.

"No, but I think it's reliable," Albus said with regret. "I've got the memories in a Pensieve. Severus has been through them with me. If you would care to –"

"The two of you wouldnae have missed anything important," she said, her lips pressed together tightly, "and there are some things I dinnae want to see unless I must." She squared her shoulders then, and raised her head. "When?" she demanded.

"Just after the holiday break, near the end of January."

"What about O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, you're worried about _tests_?" Severus interrupted, impatient with the way this was dragging on. Albus quelled him with a glance.

"The Ministry made arrangements for students who were well enough to do so to sit for examinations in June, but the school closed almost immediately."

"While I appreciate your academic concerns, I suggest we focus our attention on keeping the students _alive_," Severus cut in sourly. "I would also like to find a way to keep the school operational. If we can find a way to accomplish these, we will not need to trouble ourselves with alternate means for administering the exams!"

> > > > > > > >

The discussion with Minerva had been, to Severus' mind, remarkably unproductive. When she finally left off bewailing the danger to the school, she had nothing concrete to offer to the plans to protect it. The Headmaster had already implemented the measures he believed would improve their chances of avoiding the outcome they feared – among them, the appointments of Potter and Granger as Head Boy and Head Girl that Severus thought were not at all likely to make the difference that the Headmaster anticipated. Granger was too much of a know-it-all to be effective as a leader, and Potter – _Potter_ – was too much of a target, even if he had the proper disposition, which he didn't. Too much like his father – so arrogantly sure that he knew what to do in any situation. Reckless. Unwilling to take direction. And as _Head Boy_ –

If the Headmaster had listened to him and put Draco in that position, well, _that _might have made a difference. He was a natural leader, and his appointment would have been a sign to the rest of the Slytherins that they were also valued as students, as part of the school. For some of the Slytherins in danger of giving their allegiance to the Dark Lord, it might have made a difference.

But instead, they had _Potter_.

He ground his teeth audibly just as the fireplace flared.

"Good evening, Severus."

"Lupin," he returned shortly, crossing immediately over to the cauldron containing the Wolfsbane Potion, freshly brewed earlier that evening. No matter how reasonable it seemed to give in to the Headmaster at the time, Dumbledore was really demanding rather a lot of his Potions Master. A full teaching schedule, potion brewing – not just for the wolf, but also to keep the infirmary fully stocked and supply the Order – and all of his other activities that contributed to his own work for the Order, and still the Headmaster had asked him to arrange this meeting. And for what? The whole thing was totally unnecessary, and the Headmaster obviously considered it more important than any of the other things Severus could have done if he had just a little free time in the evening.

At least the wolf had sense enough to down his potion directly, without trying to get chatty.

Severus watched the wolf finish the last of it and checked the time. Just as he was about to make a comment about the Potter boy's punctuality, he heard the splat of uncontrolled footsteps careening down the hall. The brat made it inside the door just exactly on the hour. Severus ground his teeth.

"_Remus!_" The brat's eyes lit up when he saw the wolf, and Potter rushed over to give the other man a hug. Severus turned away before the sight made him queasy.

"Did you come by for any particular reason, or –" Potter was asking behind him. Severus found himself reaching for a cauldron in front of him, his hands moving automatically to clean it. The ritual soothed him.

"Just to visit and pick up my potion," the wolf returned. Severus could hear the affection in his voice. "Severus was kind enough to let us use his classroom, so I get to visit without the same risk as continuing to floo in to Minerva's office." The man in black ignored this to scrub viciously at the cauldron.

"He gave me _detention_," Potter complained. The wolf just laughed.

"Well, you get to serve it by visiting with me," the wolf returned, his good humor apparently unaffected. "Is that really so terrible?"

"Well, no, but –"

"Did he take any points?" The wolf's voice was unbearably gentle.

"No –" the brat admitted reluctantly.

"Then come and sit down and stop worrying about it," the wolf invited warmly. "I want to hear all about how you're doing."

It was galling to realize how quickly they seemed to forget Severus was even in the room. He cleaned cauldrons, and restocked the in-room supplies from the store room, and restored that to order – and the Potter brat just kept chattering away to the wolf the whole time! Worse, the wolf acted as if the brat's banalities were actually _interesting_, when all he was doing was babbling about Quidditch and classes and such. He even spoke for several minutes about that ridiculous new class Dumbledore had just added for the sixth and seventh year students on "Practical Life Lessons" or some such nonsense. The point of the school should be teaching the students something of _value_, not all that claptrap about – well, whatever that stupid course was about.

When Severus couldn't stand it any longer, he interrupted them.

"I believe Potter's detention is over," he informed them acidly. The brat turned and blinked at him from behind his glasses, as the wolf rose politely to his feet.

"It was good to see you, Harry, and please stay in touch. I like hearing from you." The wolf gave Potter another hug, and the brat actually flushed with embarrassed pleasure at the attention. He caught sight of Severus as he turned to leave, and gave him a brief, expressionless nod before departing.

> > > > > > >

When the potion arrived on Saturday while Alex was with him, Remus noticed that something – was it the potion? – seemed to be making her twitchy. She had never acted any differently around him before, but –

A possible explanation occurred to him just as he downed the last of it. He willed his hand to stillness and set the goblet down, determinedly ignoring the sickening lurch of fear in his stomach.

"Alex?"

"Mmh?" She was still over on the other side of the room near the desk, having stood up and wandered over there for the third time in the last quarter hour for no apparent purpose other than to toy with the small astronomical model.

"Would you come here for a moment?" He managed to keep his eyes steady when she looked up and met his, but she must have seen something in his expression, for she frowned and crossed the room in a few swift steps.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked, seating herself again and reaching out to take one of his hands in hers in an instinctive gesture that spoke of comforting solidarity.

"I just wanted to speak with you about something," he returned with a façade of calm, despite the fact that he couldn't think of any conversation he less wanted to have. "We've been seeing each other for a while now," he began, "and sometimes, as, as –" His throat began to close as if it would stop the words from coming out, but he managed to force a few more of them through the constriction, "As relationships change, people re-evaluate what, er –"

Alex withdrew her hand, her brow crinkled in puzzled distress. "Are you trying to break up with me?" she asked, so obviously surprised that it masked any other reactions that might have given Remus a clue about how to proceed.

"_No_! No, I don't want to break up with you," he said all in a rush. Then he ground to a halt, before finally managing to add with some difficulty, "but I'm wondering if _you_ do." Alex blinked, and then her eyes widened in shock.

"What on _earth_ made you think _that?_"

"Alex, when my potion came tonight – something is worrying you," he managed, groping blindly for words to explain the sense that he had. "And it seems to be connected to –" Damn it, he was having a hellish time keeping his voice steady now, and Alex – who was staring at him like he had suddenly lost his senses – was not helping matters. He tried again. "I realize it's a special thing for someone to get involved with a –"

"You think I waited until _now_ to suddenly decide that I can't date a _werewolf_?" she demanded, interrupting him. He started to reply, but she wouldn't let him. "I've got news for you," she said, her eyes flashing with anger, "I'm not dating 'a werewolf', I'm dating _you_! Remus John Lupin – no one else!"

"Alex –"

"You might just as well refer to yourself as 'hazel eyes'," she expostulated, rising to her feet with a jerk as though she couldn't bear to remain still any longer and striding angrily away from him before turning to face him. "I don't like hearing you _label _yourself that way, although I suppose you could make an argument that you're entitled to insult yourself – but you're also insulting _me_! Apparently, I'm so one dimensional in my thinking that I can't grasp the idea that there's more to you than that, while _also _being so _stupid_ that it's taken me this long to suddenly decide I don't want to date you because of something I knew about _months_ before you asked me out!"

Alex was as angry as he'd seen her, and Remus' mind suddenly flashed back to something he'd said once in his school days, after his friends had found out but before they'd become Animagi. In retrospect, he might unconsciously have said it, jokingly of course, before one of the others did, so that it would be less difficult when someone _did_ say it (or something like it). James and Sirius had both understood this immediately, and it angered them.

Sirius had lost his temper and yelled at him (much the way Alex was, but with a good deal more crudity and some very foul language) before storming out of their dormitory. James hadn't lost his temper so obviously, but he'd had a few pithy remarks for Remus on the errors in his thinking before James went after Sirius, leaving only Peter. Wormtail had only gibbered nervously in distress until he had mumbled something that sounded like an excuse and fled.

"Alex –" he entreated, reaching out to the very angry woman now glaring at him from the other side of the room, his own nerves forgotten for the moment, "I'm sorry if I misunderstood – won't you come and sit down and talk about it? I apologize if I jumped to the wrong conclusion, but I really thought you were fretting over something related to my potion." The anger seemed to be giving way to something else, but some of the expressions flashed too briefly across her face before she masked it for him to be sure of how to interpret them. "Please, Alex, _talk _to me." She sighed slightly first, but then she did return carefully to the settee, seating herself more erectly than usual and a little formally. "If I was wrong, just say so." But his nerves were returning and he wasn't at all sure he had been wrong.

"Would you mind my asking, well –" Her voice was less forceful, less certain now.

"Yes?" She had begun brushing away a non-existent piece of lint.

"You must have very special memories of your times at school," she said cautiously.

"Yes."

"You _shared_ things with them."

"A great deal," he agreed, not sure where this was going.

"Things you haven't shared with anyone else," she elaborated, her eyes fixed on him in a way that made it obvious there was more significance to this statement than he was understanding.

He fumbled a bit, stalling as he tried to puzzle this out. "I suppose –"

"It might seem, well, _disrespectful_ even to mention it," she said with some embarrassment. "But I don't want you to think I ever _intended _any disrespect to James or Sirius, because I didn't. I wouldn't even have _mentioned_ it if you hadn't been upset. And I _completely_ understand if you don't want to discuss it with me, especially, well, under the circumstances."

Remus felt like he had lost control of the conversation. "Alex, I was trying to talk to you about why you seemed to be preoccupied when my potion arrived, and I can't for the life of me figure out what you think James or Sirius could have to do with –" his voice dried up. There was a long silence. "My _transformations_? You were thinking that I shared my _transformations_ with them?"

"Well, you _did_," she returned as if this were obvious, darting a quick glance at him before lowering her gaze again as if searching for another piece of errant lint.

"And didn't want to share them with _you_?"

"Which is quite all right," she assured him hastily. "Even if you –"

Remus reached out to stop her with a gentle touch on her arm, and she looked over at him nervously. "Alex, you're quite welcome to join us on Thursday," he told her evenly, unable to stop himself from smiling in a combination of pleasure and relief.

She studied his expression a little dubiously. "I wouldn't want to make you feel you –"

"I don't, I promise," he interrupted again, holding her gaze this time until her expression relaxed and she nodded.

> > > > > > > >

Remus would have been pleasantly surprised to have Alex raise the subject of joining him during his transformation even if it hadn't been so much better than what he had feared. She seemed to be worried about offending him by mentioning the idea, and he did reassure her that he would welcome the company and thought Moony would enjoy it as well.

Considering that Moony had been pestering him to have her join them for months, this was something of an understatement, but he did _not_ share that particular piece of information with Alex. Not only did he not want to worry her (in case it seemed a little, well, obsessive on Moony's part), he was also concerned about making her feel obligated in some way. Sentencing anyone else to share his imprisonment was not something he had ever wanted to do. On the other hand, his friends had, he thought, genuinely enjoyed themselves during full moon nights when they were younger – although some of that was probably attributable to the excitement of the forbidden. Almost as soon as he had grasped what Alex had been thinking, Remus made an almost instinctive decision to be as matter-of-fact about the situation as possible – a middling posture that avoided making her feel committed to joining him the future while leaving open the possibility that he could choose to gently dissuade her from joining Moony if that seemed prudent.

Despite the wolf's assurances, Remus would never have allowed Alex to be present at all during his transformation if it were not for the Wolfsbane Potion. He simply would not have taken the risk. The fact that she was a cat would have prevented her from being turned into a werewolf herself, but it didn't mean she couldn't be _hurt_.

During their school days, Peter, in his alternate form, had relied on Padfoot and Prongs to protect him from the wolf – not that Moony had been particularly interested in the rat at the time. Alex didn't seem to have the same concern, however, and Remus was confident enough in the potion to believe he could reasonably expect to keep her safe, but it was a very different feeling from the innocent assurance of youth that knowing James, Sirius, and Peter had both restored to him for a time and then stripped away again. That reckless confidence that nothing _really_ bad could happen – so dangerous, in retrospect – and so blissfully _normal_ in adolescence. Even his lycanthropy had seemed a little like an adventure sometimes; he was far too aware of his burden to ever really be free of it, but his friends had lifted it enough to change his perceptions.

He hadn't been quite sure what to expect, or how the wolf would react to the cat, but things had – at first – gone rather better than he expected. His wolf was surprisingly excited by the presence of the cat, which it seemed to regard as more of a playmate than Edmund's wolf. Remus didn't see why (setting aside his own feelings for Alex, which would hardly matter to the wolf) as a cat could hardly be expected to engage in the type of somewhat playful wrestling as Padfoot or mock chases as Prongs. He wasn't even sure how they would relate to each other, given the noticeable disparity in their sizes, but they quickly found common ground in a game Remus mentally labeled "bat and pounce" for being, well, exactly what it sounded like. One or both of the animals would bat a small ball around the study, and then they took turns pouncing on it. The wolf was obviously more powerful, but the ability to spring long distances was of no importance within the confines of the study, and Cat's agility was a decided advantage.

In the end, Alex wasn't actually _hurt_, but Remus was honest enough to know that he couldn't credit the potion for this.

Moony, a bit overly excited, pounced on the ball just as Cat was about to. She narrowly avoided a collision with him, recovered herself – and swatted him smartly on the nose with a single swift forepaw. Then, head and tail erect, she marched firmly away and seated herself on the other side of the room, sitting very straight and still.

Remus – silently cursing his inattention for allowing the wolf to pounce when he had – tensed inwardly and prepared to clamp down hard on the wolf, but Moony showed no signs of anger or aggression. Probing cautiously, Remus soon learned that the wolf was well aware that he had been in the wrong – it had clearly been Cat's ball under the unspoken rules of their impromptu game – and felt rather abashed about the incident. Much relieved, Remus retreated a bit mentally to observe.

Released from Remus' hold, the wolf batted the ball apologetically over to Cat, trying to entice her back to their game. When that didn't work, he whimpered a bit and tried a few more obvious efforts to appease her.

Cat ignored him.

No one can _ignore_ another creature as obviously and completely as a cat, and Cat was no exception. Remus watched with sympathetic amusement as the wolf tried everything it could think of to appease the tiny, offended goddess.

The wolf was sorry.

Cat did not want to play with the ball – or a fascinating tangle of string – or _anything_ from Moony. The wolf's offerings were apparently consigned to the same oblivion Moony currently occupied and therefore did not exist.

The wolf was _very_ sorry.

As the night wore on with no sign of a thaw, and increasingly desperate to recover his position, Moony decided to offer his most cherished possession. He retrieved it from its hiding place and, with a slight keening sound, deposited it in front of Cat and shuffled back to await her reaction, lowering himself fully to the floor a respectful distance away.

Head still erect, for a long moment Cat ignored this too. Then, with a sidelong glance, she allowed her eyes to light on this newest offering for just a moment.

Her tail twitched slightly.

Moony raised his head eagerly at this first sign of a thaw, but she quelled him with a glance and he lowered it again immediately. Still, Moony knew that her acknowledging his existence was an encouraging sign, and the end of his tail thumped hopefully as Cat rose to her feet with an air of indifference and sauntered over to investigate. Her whiskers twitched as she circled for a time, considering.

Then she walked away to collect the ball, and bumped it over to Moony.

Remus was free to ponder this very interesting course of events, as Moony behaved beautifully the rest of the night. He and Cat played their game some more, and when they got tired, settled down for a doze. Moony waited until Cat had chosen a spot that suited her, then curled protectively about the tiny feline just as he had in the images he had been sharing with Remus.

It was all very bizarre.

When Remus transformed back into himself at moonset, Cat was still cuddled against his chest, which was very pleasant – but he preferred Alex.

"Alex?"

Cat partially raised her lids to look at him, and then transformed back into herself. As she did not elect to bring her clothes back with her, Remus found himself in contact with a very satisfying amount of smooth, warm skin. In spite of being tired, and sore, and feeling like his body had been turned inside out and back again, he had a sudden impulse to purr.

Alex wriggled back and re-settled herself. Remus couldn't detect any significant difference in their positions afterwards, but it seemed to be an Alex ritual.

"Blanket?" she asked after a bit, evidently not fully awake yet. Remus reached out and pulled the afghan off the sofa to cover the two of them.

He wanted to doze for a while yet but – he just _had_ to ask.

"Alex?"

"Mmm?"

"When the wolf took your ball," he began gently, "did you think that maybe it might not be a good idea to hit him on the nose?"

"What?" Alex turned her head and blinked at him.

"It's just that – well, he _is_ rather larger than Cat –"

Alex pulled away and turned to sit up a bit, frowning indignantly as she faced him.

"You _cannot_ be suggesting that Moony ought to be allowed to behave badly just because he's _bigger_?"

Okay, stupid question on his part, and only one acceptable answer to hers.

"No, of course not."

Alex as still regarding him with some disapproval.

"I don't see what his _size_ has to do with anything."

Well, there was the fact that he could probably have _eviscerated_ her if Remus had let him, but maybe he shouldn't point that out right now. Oddly enough, it hadn't seemed to occur to Moony either.

"That was _my ball_." Alex continued, sounding quite fierce.

"Yes, dear, it was very wrong of him."

"Moony wasn't playing nicely." Down from fierce to irritated and slightly grumbly.

"He knows that he was in the wrong, and he's very sorry."

Alex was still frowning at him.

"I'm sure he'll never do anything like that again," Remus promised, reaching out to pull her back into his arms. Alex sniffed, but allowed herself to be cuddled.

"If I thought he would, I wouldn't have let him play with me any more," she retorted.

Remus couldn't think of anything he could say without running a risk of antagonizing her just as she was settling down – and he wasn't entirely sure he could manage his voice just at the moment – so he settled for silent cuddling as his only response. After a bit, Alex wriggled back again.

"I thought that _thing_ he gave me at the end meant he was really sorry," she said at last, rather mildly.

"Yes," Remus confirmed, then hesitated. "It's his favorite chew toy," he admitted, the words coming out in a bit of a rush as he forced himself to stop over thinking this and just say it. "Sirius – well, Padfoot – gave it to him."

"Oh." Alex appeared to be considering this. "I don't have to _keep_ it, do I? Because it's covered with slobber and really disgusting."

Remus thought he'd been doing fairly well controlling his reactions so far, but even though he had managed to stifle the sound of his laughter at first, his entire body began to shake at this point, and he finally gave up and just _laughed_. He wouldn't have been able to conceal the shaking from her anyway. Alex waited patiently for him to get it out of his system and answer her question.

"No, you don't have to keep it," he said at last. "Moony was happy to have it back, but he was happier that you forgave him."

> > > > > > >

A/N – Well, obviously I didn't get this done in time to avoid it being AU – while canon holds that magic is somewhat incompatible with electronics, I didn't think this would impact my word processor while writing this story! I expect you're all reading other things at the moment, but I thought I'd post it anyway. As always, comments (including criticism) are always welcome.

And in an incredible display of arrogance I'll even offer my own criticism of _HP and the HBP_ – not too spoilerish I hope – by stating that in my opinion, there isn't _nearly_ enough Remus in it! ;)


	30. The Three Broomsticks

A/N - This is a little shorter than my chapters have been recently, but I'm struggling with a part a little past this, and it was getting to the point where I really needed to post something! Hopefully, this will help me push on and get the next issue resolved more quickly. The usual disclaimers apply, and feedback is always appreciated.

> > > > > >

The moon hadn't set until nearly eight o'clock, so Alex wasn't able to doze as long as either of them would have liked before she had to leave, kissing him briefly as she rose to dress.

"Dinner?" he asked hopefully, disappointed when she shook her head.

"Care for company after?" she suggested instead.

"Of course."

"Probably won't be 'til eightish," she warned.

"That's fine," Remus told her, reflecting after she left that the difference he was hoping for was a subtle one – that instead of asking, Alex would just tell him she wouldn't be back until then. _Give it time,_ he counseled himself silently before slipping back into sleep.

> > > > > > >

Despite the intervening weekend, Remus was still adjusting a little to the events of the last full moon when he received Harry's letter. Alex had taken it all rather more in stride than he expected. It hadn't occurred to Remus that Alex/Cat would be so apparently unintimidated by his much larger werewolf. Talented witches and wizards were _terrified_ by werewolves – even vampires and hags gave them a wide berth.

It seemed strange that she could have behaved with Moony as she had – for a moment he found himself wondering if his faith in Madame Marchbanks' skill in teaching DADA was misplaced – but what was even stranger was Moony's response. He had understood Moony's behavior – well, reported behavior, for without the benefit of Wolfsbane his own memories of his transformations then were much poorer – with Padfoot and Prongs, who were more of a size with his wolf. Actually, Prongs was rather larger, and his antlers were more than a match for Moony's claws, but Alex's Cat was so _tiny_, barely larger than Wormtail had been –

He put the thought out of his mind to focus on Harry's letter. He wasn't sure how much help he could be, but he was determined to try.

Some time later, he reread what he had written before attaching to carefully to Hedwig's leg and sealing it with a charm, and Remus realized that Harry might actually have helped him.

> > > > > > >

Harry, who had owled Remus to request advice on, well, dating, looked up eagerly as the morning owls arrived in the Great Hall. It was probably too soon to expect a response, but he couldn't help watching to see if Hedwig was among the owls that swooped in during breakfast. She hadn't returned yet, which he hoped meant that she was bringing Remus' reply, but it could also have meant that Remus was farther away than his home at present. Just as Harry was about to give up and return to his breakfast sausage, he caught sight of his snowy white owl gliding into the Great Hall.

"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed happily, waiting until she landed neatly on the table and stuck out her leg so Harry could perform the charm required to release the letter (one of the security precautions many in the Order now used to protect communication by owl). Although he wanted to rush, Harry forced himself to work slowly, as any mistake in the charm would destroy the letter. Hedwig hooted her thanks rather tiredly at him, and Harry looked around for a bit of bacon for her.

"Here," Ginny offered, handing him a piece of hers.

"Thanks." Hedwig hooted again before starting on the bacon, and Harry opened his letter, skimming through the preliminaries to see if Remus had answered his question. The rest of his breakfast lay forgotten on his plate as his attention was entirely absorbed by what he was reading.

"Everything all right, mate?" Ron asked. Harry looked up.

"Huh?"

"Everything all right?" Ron repeated.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said quickly. Then he smiled in an embarrassed sort of way. "I asked Remus for some – well, I wrote to him, and when he wrote back, he included some stuff about when my mum and dad were dating, and things Sirius used to do and stuff." He folded the precious letter up and tucked it away safely in a pocket under his robes.

"That was nice of him," Hermione said simply.

"Yeah," Harry grinned at her, then recalled what had prompted the letter. "Do you know Lisa Turpin at all?"

"Lisa Turpin?" Hermione glanced rather oddly at Ginny before looking back at Harry. "Some," she said cautiously. "Why?"

"I was thinking about asking her to go to Hogsmeade with me."

"Oh," she said rather blankly. There was an odd little silence for a moment that Harry was at a loss to explain. Ginny seemed to be concentrating on her breakfast, but Ron looked at him rather strangely, then at Hermione and then back at Harry again.

"Do you think I shouldn't?" Harry asked.

"No, of course not," Hermione said calmly. "I was just surprised, that's all. I didn't know you were interested in Lisa."

"What do you know about her?"

"Well, she's in my Advanced Arithmancy class," Hermione offered. "She's very good." Harry wasn't sure this was much of a recommendation – he didn't see how Lisa's talent for Arithmancy would be useful information for a date – but it wasn't really bad news either.

"Any idea where I can find her?" He was a lot more interested in this dating thing after reading Remus' letter. It wasn't just that he was less nervous, but also that some of it had started to sound sort of fun.

"You might be able to catch her in the library before dinner," she told him. "She's usually with some of the other Ravenclaws at the window table near the reference material on Charms."

"Thanks."

> > > > > > >

Harry's preoccupation with making plans for Hogsmeade – assuming that Lisa accepted the invitation, of course – caused him to be rather inattentive in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

A sharply voiced reminder, "I asked you a question, Mister Potter," brought him out of his reverie. He looked up to see the professor standing just in front of him. From the tone of her voice, it was obvious that this was not the first time she had called him to attention.

"Sorry, ma'am," he apologized hastily, avoiding Hermione's eyes (she was frowning at him severely). "Could you repeat the question?" There was a quick titter from the back of the room.

"You will remain after class," she directed coolly. "Mister Longbottom?"

Neville darted a glance of nervous apology at Harry before speaking. "Agitators are not found in the company of Dementors because they both feast on the same thing – human emotion – but on different ones. Agitators draw sustenance from anger and discord, while Dementors feed on suffering."

"Correct. Five points to Gryffindor." Neville flushed with pleasure. "Now, who can provide an example of an incident in history which we now know to be the result of Agitators?"

Harry paid careful attention to the remainder of the class session, making conspicuous notes and keeping his eyes fixed on the teacher. He approached her desk at the end of class as the other students were filing out. She did not raise her eyes to acknowledge his presence until she finished the notes she was writing and laid down her quill, some minutes after the last of the other students had departed.

"I'm very sorry, Professor," he repeated immediately. She leaned back in her chair, studying him coolly.

"They say, Mister Potter, that you have remarkable talent in this subject." Her voice seemed to Harry to hold a trace of contempt. "Perhaps you don't believe you have anything left to learn?"

"No, ma'am, I –"

"I don't want to hear it," she cut him off sharply, her lips compressing briefly in anger. "Whether you find these lessons of interest or not, the other students in class are here to learn – and today, you wasted _their_ time as well as mine." She rose from her chair then, and Harry automatically stepped back without realizing that he was actually a good deal taller than she was. "I will remind you that your presence in this class is a matter of our joint decision. If you no longer wish to attend, I will be happy to remove your name from the roster. If you choose to continue with this course, you will appear for class on time, fully prepared, and ready to participate for the entire session. Anything less, and _I _will choose to drop you from the roster. Is that clear?"

The flint in her eyes made it clear that another apology would not be well received. Harry settled for a simple, "Yes, ma'am," and was promptly dismissed.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for him outside the classroom.

"Harry?" Ron questioned, straightening himself up from the wall as soon as Harry appeared.

"It's –" After a quick glance at the classroom door, Harry gestured them on down the hall, further out of earshot. "It's all right," he assured them quickly. "No points lost – she just bawled me out." Hermione shot him a look that needed no translation. "Yes, I know I deserved it, and I promise to do better in the future." Her expression softened slightly. "I have to," he admitted, "since she threatened to kick me out of the class if I don't."

"Oh, _Harry_!" Hermione looked stricken again. "If you get kicked out of Advanced DADA in the last year you have to prepare for you N.E.W.T.s –"

"Hermione,_ calm down_. It's not going to happen, I just have to make sure she knows I'm paying attention from now on." She was now biting her lip, so Harry gave Ron a look of entreaty.

His best friend touched Hermione lightly in the small of her back before he spoke.

"And even if it did happen, we'd help him, but why don't we stop panicking until there's something to panic about?" Ron suggested, his tone a nice blend of humor and affection. "Come on, I want to get back to the dorm and get rid of these books before everyone else beats us to the food."

Hermione gave Ron a look that announced more loudly than words that she knew what he was doing, but was choosing to allow it. She harrumphed a little before marching on down the hall toward the dorm. Harry mouthed '_Thank you_' silently to Ron over her head as she passed.

**_> > > > > >_**

**_October 31st, 1997_**

Lisa Turpin had accepted Harry's invitation to Hogsmeade, and he was actually looking forward to the outing. The thought of spending the day with Lisa didn't cause the same nerves he had felt when he had taken Cho there – he hadn't even been nervous when he asked her, and she hadn't acted strangely about it either. He had taken Remus' advice, and actually had a plan for the date beyond just meeting to go to Hogsmeade, and with any luck it wouldn't even have to include Madame Puddifoot's!

It would also be nice to get out of the castle for a while. The duties of the Head Boy that had seemed to be, well, not exactly _easy_, but certainly _manageable_, seemed less so every day. He had never realized that there was so much trouble in Hogwarts – well, trouble unrelated to him or to Voldemort – and now that he did, he really wanted a break from dealing with it.

"Hi, Harry," rang out cheerfully behind him.

"Lisa," he replied easily. "I'm glad to see you. Are you ready to go?"

"All set."

"You look great," he told her honestly as they got in line. She was wearing a dark blue jumper with a sort of diamond pattern in lighter shades of blue. "I really like your jumper."

"Thanks." She grinned at him conspiratorially. "Padma wanted to borrow my white one, so we switched!"

For some reason, this made Harry laugh, which seemed like a good start for a date. He was accustomed enough to people watching him that he didn't really notice how many people turned to look when he did.

> > > > > >

Ron had grumbled a bit about Hermione leaving him during the Hogsmeade trip, even though she had promised him she wouldn't be very long. As she made her way through Hogsmeade, she noted the others around her automatically – Neville and Hannah walking down the street together, Draco sneering at a shop attendant while Pansy looked on in amusement, Harry and Lisa heading toward _The Three Broomsticks_, and Ginny, accompanied by some of her friends, stopping to look in a shop window until Harry and Lisa were out of sight. Hermione sighed inwardly, but hurried on.

She arrived at the spot she had appointed for their meeting a few minutes early, but Alex was early as well, looking in the window at some of the artwork on display.

"How did you pick this place?" she asked curiously when Hermione was within earshot of a soft-spoken comment. "Is it safe to talk here?"

"Not particularly," Hermione admitted. "Ginny told me about it. Her last boyfriend was an artist."

"Some of this is very good," Alex commented, studying the brush strokes on the portrait placed to one side of the main window.

"I assumed it was – Dean is very talented – but I don't know much about it myself."

"I didn't either for a long time, but my sister is –" A shadow crossed Alex's face for a moment, but she corrected herself and continued with apparent composure, "My sister was an artist, so we all learned more than we would have otherwise." Before Hermione could say anything, Alex changed the subject, turning her back to the shop so her eyes could scan the street. "Everything's well with you?"

"Fred and George have been in touch," Hermione said very quietly. "I have the information I need from them, and I'm ready to start putting things together on my end." She was speaking rather obliquely because of the danger of being overheard, but Alex's nod indicated that she understood.

"Do you have any idea how many should be involved to be effective?" Alex asked, choosing her words carefully as well. Hermione frowned.

"The more the better, I would think. The difficulty is – in the selection," she replied, catching herself before she revealed too much.

"Why is that?"

"Too many – especially if any are the wrong type – could be just as much of a problem as too few," Hermione replied. "The timing is also a little tricky. I'd rather provide the final, er, distribution as close to the event as possible, but we need to be sure we'll be ready when it happens."

Alex considered this, but couldn't think of much she could do to help in selecting others within the school to activate the charms when the time came to do so. As Head Girl, Hermione was uniquely well positioned to deal with this. Of course Albus, as Headmaster, should have been perfectly positioned to stop the destruction of the school, and he hadn't – at least, not the first time – so she couldn't count on him for this any more than she could for anything else. Alex gave a short, sharp shake to her head as though the movement would dislodge the uncomfortable thought.

"Is there anything else I can do?" she asked instead.

"I don't think so," Hermione replied with composure. "I'll let you know if that changes. And I'll be here over the Christmas holidays which should give me plenty of time to prepare."

_Christmas!_ Alex realized she'd been so occupied with everything else – and pleased that she had found a costume for tonight – that she had completely forgotten that Christmas was getting closer and she hadn't the faintest idea what she was going to get Remus for Christmas.

Not a problem she needed to trouble Hermione with. "You'd better get back before you're missed," she suggested instead, saying her good-byes to Hermione and watching the younger woman until she was safety within sight of_ The Three Broomsticks_.

> > > > > >

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Harry told Lisa. "Shall we stop for something to drink?" he suggested. "Madame Puddifoot's, or _The Three Broomsticks_?"

"_The Three Broomsticks_," she said decisively, causing Harry to cheer silently. He got them settled at a nice table in the corner with a couple of Butterbeers, pleased that this was going so well. Like the Weasleys, Lisa turned out to have family members who worked in the Ministry – one of her uncles worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and her mother held a position in the International Magical Office of Law – so Lisa actually had more accurate information on what was really going on in the wizarding world than many other students. She also seemed able to talk about it perfectly normally – and without appearing to think that Harry had some extra power that would enable him to miraculously fix everything that was wrong in the world merely by willing it so – which was rather refreshing. It wasn't much different from sitting around the table talking to – oh, say Fred and George – Harry decided. After being so nervous and awkward with Cho, it was a relief not to have to go through all that.

Although they had been seeing each other much longer, things were _not _going as well at Hannah and Neville's table on the other side of the room.

Harry first became aware that something was wrong about the time Hermione came in to join Ron. Her entrance caused Harry to look up, and he noticed Hannah and Neville seated not far from Ron. They normally sat much more closely together (to each other, not to Ron and Hermione), but then they had been dating for a long time – maybe you didn't keep that up after a while.

Then the arguing started.

At first it didn't seem very serious. Harry would glance over from time to time at Neville, unconsciously checking to see if everything was well, and it was rather like he was watching an argument in pantomime – Hannah's expression moving from irritation to anger, Neville looking increasingly worried as he tried to placate her. Then Hannah raised her voice a few times, but Neville seemed to sooth her in fairly short order each time.

Then she exploded out of her chair (figuratively rather than literally), overturning it in her haste to get to her feet as she began screaming insults at her boyfriend at the top of her lungs, punctuating them with the loud crash of shattering Butterbeer bottles. There was a shocked scramble as the students around them scuttled out of the way of the flying fragments of glass, crashing into other students – Harry, Hermione, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and a couple other fifth years that Harry vaguely recognized as the new fifth year Ravenclaw prefects – trying to reach the infuriated witch and put a stop to it. Neville, looking stunned and rather sick, was cowering behind the edge of the table, popping up at intervals to try to say something only to be forced to take cover again as Hannah's bottle-fire continued. Harry had his wand out, but he couldn't get a clean shot with all the other students stampeding for cover. He had just about decided to start firing stunners anyway – it wouldn't hurt anyone as much as leaving the continuing storm of glass shards unchecked – when Hermione got a clean shot at Hannah from behind her.

The Three Broomsticks had never been cleared of customers so quickly.

The only ones who remained were Hannah (whom Hermione left Stunned), those who had been trying to reach her, and Ron and Lisa, who had remained because their dates had, but who fortunately had sense enough to stay out of the way. Then Moody and Tonks burst in through the doors, which seemed a bit anticlimactic. _If they have to keep following me, why couldn't they have shown up when they could have been of some use?_

"Well?" Moody demanded, his magical eye rotating wildly in search of a non-existent danger.

"I'm _fine_," Harry told him irritably. He felt Lisa's eyes on him and added, "We_ all_ are," a little more politely, wondering how many teenagers had to cope with a security detail for their dates and how they explained them if they did.

Moody's normal eye was glowering at Harry, and Tonks was making her way over to where Hannah had fallen when Madam Rosmerta emerged from the storeroom with a fresh tray of clean glasses. They promptly crashed to the floor when she saw the state of her pub. Harry looked around once more and took it all in with a single swift glance – no longer from the perspective of obstacles and areas of fire, but as the room he had visited many times before. In addition to the spray of glittering fragments of glass liberally coating the floor and the overturned furniture, one of the pictures on the wall had been gashed somehow – perhaps a flying piece of glass? – and a part of the stair railing had been pulled loose.

Madam Rosmerta looked like she was going to burst into tears.

"We'll take care of it," Harry told her very quickly. "You two, get the glass cleaned up and everything off the floor," he directed the fifth year Ravenclaws. Hermione and Tonks were already kneeling over Hannah, and Ron quickly started restoring the overturned furniture to order, gesturing Lisa to help him. "Justin, would you mind taking a look at that banister? Thanks."

"My _pub room_," Madam Rosmerta moaned faintly. "My neat little –" There was a dazed look in her eyes as she surveyed the remains of the room that a few minutes ago had been in excellent order and bustling with customers.

"Hannah was taken ill," Harry couldn't think of any other way to explain what happened, "and it frightened some of the other students," he continued firmly. "But we'll get her safely back to the castle and make sure everything is cleaned up for you."

"_First _student day of the season," she said, apparently to herself. "Never before – not in all these _years_ –"

"As soon as it's cleaned up, we'll tell the other students they can come back," Harry promised, realizing that this must normally be one of the more profitable days of the year for her business. "And if there's any damage or one of the students forgot to pay for their drink in the commotion, just send a note up to the Headmaster and we'll take care of it." It might have been a slightly rash promise, as Harry was the one who would have to pay the tab if the school didn't, but he really didn't think there was any major damage – mostly broken Butterbeer bottles – and he thought his account at Gringott's could stand buying a round of drinks.

"Harry, we'd like to get her back to the infirmary before waking her up – just in case," Hermione told him.

"She just –" Neville spoke up, still looking rather sick. "I'll go with you." Moody jerked a nod in Tonks direction, and she returned it in a cheerful, carefree manner that seemed totally at odds with Moody's expression that seemed to indicate that he alone was shrewd enough to realize disaster was imminent – even if he wasn't yet quite sure from which direction it would arrive.

"Er, Lisa," Harry began, and she looked over at him from a table across the room she was righting. There was a flash of humor in her eyes as they met his.

"After I've done what I can here, I'll head back up to the castle as well," she told him, crossing the room until she was standing just in front of him. Then she smiled. "Exciting date. I'd like to do it again some time – without the pub fight, if you don't mind." Lisa put a hand on the back of his neck to gently urge him forward, and she reached up and kissed him – right on the mouth and right in front of everybody.

It was over too quickly for Harry to absorb much beyond the fact that it was happening, and that Lisa's kiss wasn't as – well – _wet _as Cho's had been. He was still standing in the same position when he realized that Tonks was helping Hermione steer Hannah's floating form out the door with Lisa following behind them with Neville. Ron was staring at him with a strange expression on his face (he stopped and went back to picking chairs up when he saw Harry looking back at him), Justin had finished fixing the stair railing and was making awkward attempts to soothe Madam Rosmerta (who seemed to be recovering from distress into anger rather quickly), and Moody was still glaring at him.

Harry managed to refrain from rolling his own eyes back at Moody.

> > > > > > >

Harry and Ron were waiting in their dormitory when Neville returned, looking even worse than he had at _The Three Broomsticks_. His round, good-natured face was streaked with tears.

"Ha-Hannah bro-broke up with m-me," he sputtered, prompting a fresh round of tears as he collapsed on his bed.

"Neville, I'm so sorry," Harry said.

It shouldn't have been unexpected news – Hannah had already broken up with him rather publicly – but it still didn't seem quite possible that Hannah and Neville were really no longer a couple. The two of them had even started to look like each other, and somehow Harry had been sure that there was just something _wrong _with Hannah – maybe somebody slipped something into her Butterbeer – and once it was fixed, everything would go back to normal.

But now Neville was back from the infirmary, and he and Hannah were no longer a couple.

"That's really – tough, mate," Ron echoed.

Neville seemed to try to say something, then gave up and pulled the hangings of his bed shut. They could hear muffled sobs coming from the other side. Harry and Ron looked at each other helplessly, then made their way back down to the common room where Hermione was waiting.

"I just don't _get_ it," Ron said to them much later. "They seemed so happy, and Neville's a really nice chap when you get to know him."

Hermione looked puzzled and upset. "You're right, Ron, it doesn't make sense," she said in a worried tone. "She accused him of being controlling, and manipulative, and mean –"

"Everyone in _The Three Broomsticks_ heard what she called him," Ron grumbled.

"– And Neville isn't like that _at all_," Hermione continued. "Hannah's known him for years, even before they started dating. You'd think that she would have accused him of something _plausible_."

"If you're going to break up with someone by shouting at them at the top of your lungs in front of an audience, I don't think it matters much what you're shouting," Ron said irritably. "That's just a lousy thing to do."

"I'm worried," Hermione said, worrying her lower lip. "I thought we could count on Hannah – now, I don't know. I wish I understood why she did that."

"Do you think she's under an Imperius?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hermione hesitated. Ron's expression became alarmed.

"Someone using the Imperius on a_ student_?" the red-head echoed. "Do you really think –"

"Do you think students are supposed to be_ immune_ for some reason," she retorted sharply. Ron looked a little hurt, and Hermione lifted her head to rub at her temple. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, "I didn't mean to speak to you like that. I don't know what's gotten into me lately."

"Maybe it's, er, –" Ron began, but Harry – recalling recent lessons in the seventh year curriculum about the operation of the human reproductive system and suspecting that Ron did as well – kicked him sharply before his best friend said anything his girlfriend would _not _appreciate.

> > > > > > > >

Harry's former professor positioned himself just outside _The Three Broomsticks_ to wait for Alex. While he waited, Remus occupied himself by watching the wide array of costumes and people – using a broader definition of that word than the Ministry would have accepted – pass by as afternoon deepened into evening.

He hadn't been much in the way of celebrating Halloween for some time – not since the one so many years ago that changed everything. But Harry's letter reminded him of two things – the need to continue to work on his relationship with Alex, and the wonderful times the four friends had shared in two of their last three years at school, after they had discovered the secret passage into Hogsmeade and decided to sneak out to join the _real _celebrations, the ones that occurred after darkness had fallen. These were, of course, strictly forbidden to the students – even the older ones – a prohibition he understood in retrospect. At the time, it had seemed like another case of adults being a little overprotective, treating the students like, well, children.

But they had certainly had _fun_.

And now he wanted to share some of that experience with Alex – and maybe remake his own memories of Halloween as well.

She kept her costume simple, with robes in a dark shade that shifted between blue, purple, and black in different lights, obviously chosen to match her mask in the same colors. She moved it aside to allow him to greet her properly, and when he raised his head and smiled at her, there was a light in her eyes that thrilled him to the core.

"This is like a trip to Disneyland!" she exclaimed. "Well, in a _very_ bizarre way."

_She's happy,_ he realized, amazed at how that knowledge affected him.

He could _see_ it in her – she was happy to be there, at that moment, with him. And, for a moment at least, she appeared to be untroubled by any other concerns, the weight of which she bore so stoically. He had seen her laughing before, seen her enjoying herself before – even seen her lost in the transcendent pleasure they created together, but he had never seen her quite the way she was tonight. Simple unshadowed happiness. _Please let me help her hold on to this – just for tonight,_ he pleaded silently.

"Going to let me show you how the wizarding world celebrates Halloween?" he said aloud instead, with a teasing smile.

"Lead on," Alex replied, with a lilt in her voice that delighted him. Just then, one of the revelers who'd been indulging at _The Three Broomsticks_ stumbled out and lurched a little too close to them, prompting Remus to draw Alex closer in an obviously protectively gesture that did not escape the attention of an observer nearby.

Too absorbed in each other, neither of them were aware of the observation.

> > > > > >

Hopefully I'll do better getting the next chapter out a little more quickly, but comments (including criticism) are appreciated in the interim.;-)


	31. Who Remembers to Lock the Door?

Alex was having a wonderful time.

She had revised her earlier impression. Halloween in Hogsmeade was still very bizarre, but as the night wore on, she decided it was more closely related to _Mardi Gras_ or _Carnival_ than to Disneyland. There were all sorts of strange creatures about, in various costumes or states of dress. Or undress. As the night wore on – and the level of intoxicants consumed by most of the revelers increased (Alex and Remus stuck to Butterbeers) – people seemed to be wearing less and less, although everyone did seem to be mostly keeping their masks on. It was quite possible that they would wake up tomorrow morning hoping that no one had recognized them.

It really shouldn't have been her type of party.

Alex was always one of the designated drivers on New Year's Eve. Alex was the one who made sure there were enough life jackets on board when they took a boat out on the lake. Alex always counted the number of doors between her hotel room and the two nearest exits when she traveled. Alex was one of those people who actually replaced the batteries in her smoke detectors every year. Alex was the responsible one – the one who did _not_ get drunk and dance on top of a table.

But now she was here in Hogsmeade with Remus feeling as though she didn't have a thing to worry about or take care of.

Which was a really strange feeling, because the fact that she was on a date had never stopped her from worrying before – well, not _worrying_ worrying in the sense that she was actively fretting about anything, but worrying in the sense that some small part of her mind was always monitoring the situation in case there was anything that needed attention. But for some reason she didn't seem to be doing that tonight, and Alex had a sneaking suspicion that it was because she was with Remus.

Remus knew where to go to get something light to eat and drink – the Butterbeer was pleasant and refreshing without the burn in the back of your throat that warned that there was more liquor in something than you had been led to believe. Remus took her arm as they were strolling about early in the evening in what Alex blissfully decided was the perfect way for a man to take a woman's arm in such a situation; some men pulled your arm tightly against their bodies and held it firmly in place, as though you might try to get away at any minute, while others seemed unsure of what to do with the arm they had taken once they had it – it was hard to figure out which was worse. Remus made sure she would have an excellent view of the midnight procession, but tucked away on one side of a sharp bend, where they would be sheltered from the slightly chilly breeze while enjoying the spectacle without being pressed to participate more than she wished. At that point, some of the revelers were more than a little uninhibited.

In spite of all of that, however, she didn't fully realize quite how well Remus was taking care of her until a member of the vampiric court looked straight at her, then she caught a glimpse of movement and Remus' hand flew up in front of her protectively. Then the vampire met Remus' eyes for a long moment across the short distance that separated them, before he turned away with a mocking half smile and a shrug to survey the clamoring crowd before the procession as they rounded the next corner.

"What was that about?" Alex asked him, turning her attention momentarily away from the dance of the satyrs.

Remus hesitated. "It's a throwback to an older part of the ritual," he explained.

"Which was?" He was pretty good at blanking out his face when he tried, but there was something about his eyes that gave him away when he was embarrassed.

It was kind of cute.

"The favors used to be charmed – or sometimes cursed – depending on what you received and who threw it to you," he admitted. "Most often, they were charmed to make you – _respond_ – to the giver for the rest of the night."

Alex studied the favor that still lay where it had fallen. "I'm not detecting it," she told him, her brow creasing in concern.

"It's usually more symbolic now." He reached out and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "A lot of those spells have been outlawed – although in fairness, I have to admit that the people who came here usually knew what they were risking. There are still a few real enchantments, but ever since Aurors started suddenly appearing part way through the procession to inspect the favors, anything they use has to be added just as it's thrown."

Alex's mind was working rapidly, aiding by the delightful feel of his arms surrounding her.

"So the favor you deflected was something in the nature of an invitation?" she posited.

"If you want to call it that," he replied, a little stiffly.

"Which you rejected on my behalf," she continued.

"Ye-es."

"Without consulting me."

There was a long silence. Alex waited. Even though Remus was beside her, and she was still looking at the procession ahead, she knew just how he looked with the faint beginnings of a frown at the corner of his eyes.

"Alex, he would have –"

"Ravished me?" she suggested lightly. The arm around her tightened convulsively.

"If you _actually_ –" Remus began hastily as he turned her to face him, but then he met her eyes and relaxed. "You weren't serious." Alex raised her arms over his shoulders to link them behind his neck and shifted a little closer.

"I'm _very_ serious," she countered, letting a bit of her smile leak out. "You deprived me of my ravishment, and I don't think I've ever been _ravished _before."

"Shall I apologize profusely?" He seemed to have received the message, as his mouth started moving deliciously against her neck as soon as he whispered the words. What had she been saying?

"I don't think an apology is enough," she managed, noting in some distant part of her brain that it really didn't seem to be as cool out as she had thought it was earlier in the evening. But she wasn't thinking about the weather, she decided firmly. Or that delightful sensation whenever he –

"Plaintiff is entitled to damages," she announced, proud of how firmly she was speaking despite the fact that she didn't seem to have any air left in her lungs, "due to your tortious interference with a third party –"

What came after that part? _Tortious interference with a third party – _Or was it _tortious interference of a third party_? _Tortious – something - _

"So, you think I owe you a _ravishment_?"

She understood that he couldn't kiss her properly while he was talking, but she wasn't quite sure _why_ they were still talking. He'd finally reached her mouth, but he just kept brushing it lightly with his own. If she started talking too, things would only get worse, but she made an approving noise so he wouldn't think she wasn't paying attention. It didn't seem to work, though, because he raised his head.

"On the other hand, if a debt isn't paid when due, I believe that interest accrues," he informed her thoughtfully, "so if I _don't _pay up now, I could eventually owe you much more than just the one ravishment." He drew back and released her, and as her knees didn't seem to have been supporting her very well just at the moment, she actually stumbled slightly when he withdrew.

"I understand that at present interest rates, even a short delay could leave me with a debt I'd be paying off for the rest of my life," he concluded aloud. "It's definitely something to be considered."

"_You_ –" Alex began hoarsely, but his eyes were twinkling madly at her, and she realized how neatly he'd turned the tables on her. Then, she started to laugh. "You _wretched_ man," she said instead, as soon as she stopped laughing long enough to form sentences.

"Guilty," he declared, reaching out to pull her back into his arms. "I'm also a tortious interfere – er? Whatever you said before," he concluded, bending his head down for a proper kiss. Not a knee-crumbling sort of kiss, thank god, because she didn't think her knees were up to another one just yet – but still a proper kiss. "One who owes you a ravishment. So I was wondering –"

"Yes?"

"If we left now and went home, but I didn't ravish you until we actually arrived –" He had started leading them back toward the apparition point.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do you think the interest accrued during that time would be substantial?"

"_Very_ substantial."

"You charge exorbitant rates?" he asked hopefully.

"Absolutely," she confirmed instantly. Remus turned his head to grin at her. "Extortionate," she added, grinning back. "Maybe even usurious."

"Have I ever told you how sexy I find a woman with a big – vocabulary?" he teased.

Their footsteps tapped along the cobblestone walkway in perfect harmony.

The rhythmic tapping of their footsteps masked any noise made by those who were following them.

> > > > > > > >

There were some for whom Hogmeade was a little too public a place to celebrate Halloween. Certain revelries were better shared with a much more select group of intimates.

"Alone again?" The smoothly purring voice held hints of more layers of meaning. Severus accepted the claret and continued to regard the rest of the assemblage from his semi-secluded vantage point.

"As you see," he replied neutrally.

"Really, Severus, people are beginning to talk," Lucius prodded with false levity, his voice holding a larger touch of malice than the faint undertone of it that was always present.

"Only _beginning_?" he parried dryly, and the older blond chuckled slightly.

"True, there is always talk – but then there is _talk_." Lucius paused a moment, as though waiting for a response, but Severus only sipped his claret impassively, his eyes hooded. "You know I've always deplored the disregard for the value of our blood. _Pure_ blood. All those years of The Dark Lord's absence, watching wizards like Dumbledore and Weasley holding sway. The slow erosion of wizarding pride – but His return is changing all that. We're already seeing the signs."

Severus did not appear to realize that any response was required.

"My son will be able to take his rightful place in the world – and he'll appreciate it as he should," Lucius continued.

"Draco has never lacked pride in his heritage," Severus replied at last.

Lucius smiled, but it did nothing tolightenthose cold gray eyes. "He has much to be proud of," he returned, "only the best of our blood runs in his veins." Severus was mentally prepared for another of Lucius' dissertation on the illustrious ancestors of the Malfoy-Black lines, but that was not what followed. "He knows his duty to the blood. He'll marry as he should, and his children will be prepared to continue our work."

Severus made a non-committal noise.

"They're all growing up, aren't they?" Lucius continued with deceptive lightness. "The next generation. And now so close to graduation – did you realize that in a matter of months, my son will have completed his education? Well, his Ministry-approved education. But it does make one think." Severus gave every appearance of paying Lucius only the desultory attention due to a few idle remarks, but this was far from the case. Lucius turned to lean against the balustrade and regard the other Slytherin more directly. "Of course, perhaps you don't think of it the same way? After all, you've none of your own, have you?"

Severus turned his attention away from the – activities – below long enough to gift Lucius with a long, derisive look. "Not of my blood, no," he agreed with apparent equanimity. "Oddly enough – after spending the largest part of every year looking after an entire House of young Slytherins – the prospect of giving up the last of my remaining time to looking after more of them has not yet appealed."

"So you've said in the past," Lucius replied smoothly, "but then, you have been at that school for quite some time, haven't you? You appear to be becoming something of a fixture there." Severus' mouth twisted in the way that his intimates knew passed for amusement.

"I'm hardly in my dotage, Lucius," he returned lightly, leaning casually against the balustrade as well. "You forget that I can give you five years!" The older man was undeterred.

"My dear Severus," he replied, his voice dipping to a ripple of silk, "I am quite confident that you're every bit as capable of fathering a child as you ever were –" Lucius rose and slipped by, pausing for a moment just when he was behind Severus to add, "– were you so inclined," in a voice dangerously close to a whisper before he took up a new position on Severus' other side. It took a good deal of control not to react.

"And Severus," Lucius continued from his new position, "I haven't forgotten _quite_ as much over the years as you seem to think." The older man took a connoisseur's sip of his own claret, but his eyes never left Severus' face. "Although apparently you have learned discretion. Draco tells me that he hasn't heard a word about your – er – romantic proclivities at school. Oh, there's speculation enough, but no one – not a single person – who remembers seeing you with anyone, even on a simple date. Rather remarkable, isn't it?"

The claret was now tasteless on his tongue, but Severus forced himself to take another sip, if only to avoid the necessity of speaking with a suddenly dry mouth. "You find it so?" he returned evenly after he had swallowed.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," Lucius purred with feigned reassurance, before shifting into a bantering tone that could be read as either teasing or mockery. "You know that the members of our house have always had a talent for making sure they know anything worth knowing – and yet there's an absolute dearth of information about the current Head of House! No late night encounters when your robes are redolent with the betraying smell of firewhiskey, no mysterious figures disappearing from your room in the early hours of the morning – not even any ritual 'detentions' with select students of interest among the upper years!"

Severus snorted mildly. "I can't say _selective_ is the first word to come to mind in recalling our former Head of House," he replied, hoping he'd succeed in changing the subject. Lucius was still regarding him with too much interest.

"No," he agreed thoughtfully, "Baggins really wasn't that careful, was he? You have been, though, which begs the question – why?"

"Why ask a question to which you already know the answer?" Severus essayed idly, hoping his casual air would pass Lucius' far-from-casual scrutiny. "However, I suppose I could indulge you by answering in kind. How much respect did you have for Baggins?" He was meeting Lucius' eyes and hoped his own contained the cool humor he was trying for. "And I'll do you the justice of assuming you do recall a certain very _memorable_ incident in the Prefects' bathroom," he suggested, silently relieved when Lucius actually laughed in response – and even more so when Narcissa's arrival put an end to the conversation, and allowed him to make his excuses.

"But so soon?" Lucius protested idly, one hand slipping through the opening created by his wife's backless dress to curve around her thin form possessively. Narcissa accepted this with equanimity, not bothering to hide her indifference. "Leaving before all the guests have arrived?" Lucius' eyes were keen beneath lowered lids. "I do hope it's nothing I've said."

Severus automatically calculated the exact lift of his left brow which would convey just a touch of superficial amusement without appearing overdone, and then added it to his verbal reply. "Unless you're really Argus Filch in disguise, no."

"_Argus Filch_?" Lucius echoed, his eyes glinting with interest.

"Yes," Severus drawled, drawing out the moment. "Something about students sneaking out to Hogsmeade."

> > > > > > > >

It was Severus' experience that very few people used their brains. Or their senses. Really, it was almost remarkable how many human beings stumbled through life, blind and oblivious, relying on habit for critical decisions.

Argus Filch was suspicious of the students to the point of paranoia. Everyone "knew" this, so any excuse relying on this trait was at least credible.

A keener observer would also have known how desperately Argus wished to be accepted in the wizarding world, and realized that he would hardly fail to take advantage of one of the few opportunities he had to join in one of its most lasting traditions – carefully masked, of course. Severus had assisted him with a small charm before he left – and would offer to assist him in keeping his secret by dropping a few careless words about Argus' determination to ensure that no students succeeded in sneaking out to join the revelries in Hogsmeade. Argus would undoubtedly be grateful – useful if Severus ever needed to call in a favor.

Lucius, however, was not subject to being classed with the great unconscious majority. Something had piqued his interest – but _what_? Severus had been very careful ever since he had taken refuge at Hogwarts. No matter what Dumbledore's views on the subject were, the parents – particularly those of the students in Slytherin House – would have a very different opinion on the propriety of Severus' presence if they had the slightest hint that Severus was anything other than the normal heir of a normal pure-blood family. Not old money, but old blood – money was one form of power, but blood was blood.

Blood he wasn't likely to pass on to a future generation.

In the privacy of his rooms, Severus swallowed hard. If Lucius knew – but Lucius couldn't know. Severus went back over every single incident he could remember from the time before he realized just how careful he had to be until he knew what he needed to do. He had been over them in his mind more times than he could count, and he still couldn't find anything that could be considered conclusive. There were, in his early stages with his fellow Death Eaters, certain aspects of his conduct that might be misconstrued, but The Dark Lord would not see beyond Severus' obedience.

At the time, he had indulged in certain perversions – some of which had sickened him – but he was hardly alone in his indulgence. Glorying in the perverse was practically a job requirement among The Dark Lord's followers. The others in the inner circle had done so as well – no, his behavior at that time would not betray him.

It was the emotions behind his behavior that put him at risk.

Reveling in certain otherwise-forbidden pleasures was perfectly acceptable; emotional indulgences were not, not like that. The Dark Lord might have detected it if he had known what to look for all those years ago, but Severus had spent the intervening years building his mental shields to protect himself – just in case.

But Dumbledore had known. Or guessed. And he hadn't needed legilimancy to do it.

Severus buried his head in his hands.

> > > > > > > >

The breakup of Hannah and Neville continued to trouble Harry. Neville hadn't come down for the Halloween feast, and the hangings remained closed on his bed the rest of the evening. Hermione had told them during the feast that Madame Pomfrey had not found anything wrong with Hannah – although she was, like all the other students (and adults, for that matter) under a certain amount of stress, given the news lately.

The strange thing was that they didn't even talk about it much any more – like the news of the dead and the injured and the incidents reported in _The Daily Prophet_ were only part of the expected routine. They were all getting frighteningly good at saying things that began with "I'm sorry to hear about your –" although Harry thought that Hermione's habit of providing copies of class notes to the bereaved was a little strange. Still, the recipients seemed to understand that she meant well, and they took them in that spirit. A few of them even appeared to be genuinely grateful.

Harry's sleep was troubled as his mind continued to replay the scene from _The Three Broomsticks_, trying to make some sort of sense of what had happened. Ginny – who was the only one of his friends at breakfast when Harry came down very early the following morning – noticed it almost immediately.

"Something wrong?" Ginny asked, interrupting Harry's listless stirring of his porridge.

"You heard about Neville and –"

Ginny nodded. "How's he doing?"

"He's taking it really hard."

"Maybe he really cared about her." There was an odd edge to Ginny's voice as she spoke.

"I think there's something wrong," he said instead.

"Like what?"

"Everything is so – everyone is just really –" Ginny dropped her own spoon with a bit of a clatter.

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters are _killing_ people," she pointed out acidly. "You were expecting everyone to be_ cheerful_?"

"Well, no, I just – you think this is _normal_?"

"I don't have a lot to compare it to, but it seems to me to be pretty much what you would expect under the circumstances."

Harry continued to stir his porridge in silence, although Ginny, who appeared to be rather out of sorts as well, abruptly dropped her spoon for the second time a short while later, picked up a breakfast roll, mumbled something indistinct and left, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Still, Ginny had given him an idea. Remus had been around when Voldemort had taken over the first time – he could tell Harry whether he needed to be worried – well, more than usual – about this or not.

Once the idea took root in his mind, it was hard to dislodge it. He started to mentally compose a letter to Remus, but it was annoying to think about how long he would have to wait for a reply, and what he really wanted to do was _talk _to him. But Remus was not at the school, and Harry didn't know how long it would be before he visited again.

Still, it was Saturday, so he wouldn't be missing any classes.

And he did have his ticket, so he wouldn't be breaking any laws. Rules, yes (if he got caught), but no laws.

Pushing his porridge bowl away abruptly, Harry went to get the Cloak.

> > > > > > > >

Harry planned to just slip the Cloak on again when he got to Hogsmeade, Apparate over to Remus' house to talk to him, and Apparate back later with no one but Remus any the wiser. It wasn't as though he wouldn't be safe with Remus, but the constant surveillance was really starting to get on his nerves.

He arrived just a little bit off target, forcing him to walk up the lane a short distance to get to Remus' home, but not very far. As he approached the neat little house – shabby in a way that Harry found comforting and Aunt Petunia would have scorned despite its being tidily maintained – he was a little surprised not to see Remus up and about in the small garden. Everything was quiet, and Harry started to become concerned. Remus was normally an early riser.

Harry knocked on the front door and waited, removing the Cloak so that Remus could identify him if he looked out to see who his visitor was. After the second round of knocking produced no response, Harry tried the door, which was locked.

_Maybe he just went to market, or a meeting of the Order,_ Harry told himself, but he could feel himself tensing to do battle even as he thought it.

Pulling out Sirius' useful gift to him, he used it to unlock Remus' door and stepped inside, wand at the ready. They had taken Sirius from him already. If they thought they could take Remus too, they were very much mistaken.

A hasty search of the ground floor confirmed that it was empty, and Harry mounted the stairs, wand still at the ready. One of the doors at the top of the stairs was closed, and Harry turned the knob slowly with his non-wand hand. Discovering that it was not locked, he decided to take advantage of the element of surprise and shoved the door violently open before rushing into the room, wand outstretched.

He did find Remus, but perhaps that had been a mistake.

"_Harry_?" Remus demanded, not lowering his wand. One part of Harry's mind noted the evidence of a very impressive reaction time. Despite Harry's bursting through the door, Remus had managed to arm himself and cover, er, well –

As more of his brain processed the scene in front of him, Harry could feel a wave of embarrassment rising. Even though Remus was shielding the woman with him with his own body as he stared coolly down his wand at the intruder into his bedroom, Harry was still fairly certain that neither of them were wearing any clothes. There were various garments around the room, but –

_Oh, no – _

"_Identify yourself_," Remus ordered in a tone of voice Harry had never heard before.

"It's me," Harry said unintelligently, lowering his wand immediately and painfully aware that in another second his face would be Gryffindor red. "I came to see you and got worried when no one answered the door. I am _so _sorry." Remus seemed to relax a little and lowered his wand without releasing it from his hand.

"Why don't you wait for me in the drawing room? I'll be down presently," Lupin suggested.

"Yes, sir." Harry tried not to look as though he were running out of the room as he left and shut the door behind him.

> > > > > > > >

"Alex?" Remus asked anxiously. "Are you –"

"Getting squashed?" Alex suggested. "Yes," she told him decisively.

"Sorry." He shifted immediately, taking advantage of the opportunity to study her expression. _Idiot, _he berated himself silently. It had never occurred to him to lock the door to his bedroom, but it was such a simple precaution that there was no excuse for not having bothered. "Are you all right?" She didn't look _too_ upset, and her mouth had the beginnings of that odd little quirk in her lips that he adored.

"Now I am," she said, resettling herself. "I think Harry was more embarrassed than I was. Of course, he probably had a head start on account of being awake," she pointed out wryly.

"I'm so sorry –"

Alex arched an eyebrow. "What for?"

"I should have thought to lock the door," he explained fretfully. "It never occurred to me –"

"Why would it? You live alone," Alex pointed out reasonably, running a comforting hand down one of his arms. "I don't lock the door to my bedroom. The apartment, certainly, but not the bedroom." Remus frowned.

"I thought I _did_ lock the door to the house," he mused slowly.

"Why is Harry here?" Alex asked.

"I don't know," he admitted, feeling rather guilty that he wasn't more worried about Harry, but then Harry had seemed to be basically fine. If the younger man thought he was capable of launching a spur-of-the-moment rescue of his former DADA professor, he certainly ought to be well enough to wait quietly downstairs for a few minutes, Remus concluded silently, but what he said aloud was only, "I suppose I'd better go find out."

He needed to dress first of course, but then he felt the cold air hit him as he left the comforting warmth of their shared space under the bedclothes and took the time to make sure Alex was well covered before he starting looking for something to wear. He instinctively grabbed his warmest jumper and thickest pair of slacks, knowing from the groggy protests of his muscles as he dressed that he was going to be feeling every minute of his age today.

Even as a teenager, Remus had never had quite as much energy as his peers. Sirius had been able to stay up partying or pranking long after nearly everyone else (with the exception of either his latest conquest or companion in mischief making) had given up and gone to bed, and then he would snatch a couple hours of sleep before sliding into his seat barely in time for their first class.

What was worse, Sirius had not only managed to _appear_ alert under those circumstances, he actually was alert enough to consume whatever breakfast had been slipped to him by one of the other boys without ever attracting the attention of one of the professors.

But Remus had never managed to keep up with Sirius and James that way even in their youth. Other than for transformations or guard duty – or for what Sirius had edgily referred to as dog-sitting when he had been in one of his moods at Grimmauld Place – last night had been the first time Remus had been up that late in almost twenty years. It was a singular indulgence he had allowed himself only because he had every intention of sleeping in until they woke up, and then staying drowsily in bed until they felt like moving – possibly, if they got hungry, in time for afternoon tea.

He had absolutely _no_ intention of being driven out of bed much too early in the morning for what now promised to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry.

"I used to think all that stuff about people warning you your face could freeze that way was a little silly," Alex told him conversationally. "Then I hit thirty, and realized that your life does start leaving its mark on your features. Then I became a witch, and learned a spell that will make someone's face actually freeze!" An unexpected gurgle of laughter erupted out of him, and his mounting tension drained away. Socks in hand, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, Alex shifting her legs to make room for him and sitting up companionably.

"That bad?" he asked whimsically, leaning closer and enjoying the comforting stroke of her hand on his back. Alex let out a little exhalation of air in response, but weakly.

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested gently, wondering guiltily how much of the suggestion was prompted by concern for Alex – who didn't ever seem to get enough sleep to begin with, even when they hadn't been up unusually late – and how much was prompted by his own enjoyment of the knowledge that she was sleeping in his bed. Alex sighed a little, and leaned in to rest her chin on one of his shoulders.

"I'm awake now," she said, resigned. "If you're going to be a while with Harry, I can just let myself out through the kitchen."

"Stay," he urged again. "Go back to sleep. I'll even bring you breakfast in bed once Harry's taken care of."

"Tempting, but I wouldn't actually go back to sleep, so I might as well get something done," she replied philosophically. Remus made a face at her as she too started to dress. "I'm not sure you're looking at this the right way," she suggesting in a teasing tone. "If I take care of some things now, I might be able to stay a little longer tomorrow morning – if I'm invited back, that is?"

"Considering that I'm trying to convince you not to leave, I think that's a fair assumption," he said dryly. "Any idea when you'll be taking me up on the invitation to return?"

"Lunch? I'll bring it – and enough for Harry, just in case."

> > > > > > > >

Harry spent the few minutes he had to wait for Remus to join him trying to stop blushing and pull himself together, but _thinking_ about not being embarrassed seemed to have the opposite effect, so he ended up just pacing back and forth in the small drawing room and wondering if it would be rude if he just wrote a quick note of apology and left. Maybe he could come back some other time – ask Remus when it would be convenient – which obviously is what he_ should _have done before he coming this morning – but then the sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted his musings, and Remus came into the front parlor. He looked very much as he usually did which was rather reassuring.

"I'm really _terribly_ sorry, Professor," Harry began to apologize again, but Lupin waved the apology of away with an air of finality.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. What can I do for you?"

Gathering his wits, Harry plunged into an explanation of the problems that have brought him to Lupin's house in the first place. It was still a little awkward at first, as he kept stumbling, and having to backtrack because he was tripping over his own tongue trying to get the words out, but Remus just listened with that reassuring air of gentle concern, and pretty soon the words were streaming out of Harry pretty steadily. He told his former professor all about the tensions at school, and the incident at _The Three Broomsticks_, and Hannah's subsequent breakup with Neville despite the fact that nothing was wrong with her. He told him about the strain of being Head Boy, and all the little fights that seemed to occupy so much of everyone's time, and the way it seemed to be affecting even the Hufflepuffs. He told him about Hermione's reaction, and her concern that someone was using an Imperius on students, and Ginny's opinion that all of it was normal.

" – and that's why I decided to come and see you," he finished at last, feeling rather as though he'd played a good, hard game of Quidditch and finally got to the end. "I wanted to know if this is – well, normal. Not _normal_ normal, but –"

"But normal for a time when Voldemort is acting as he is?" Remus supplied, and Harry nodded. A host of expressions seemed to flash across Remus' face, and Harry could only identify some of them, but not all. The older man sighed slightly, and his lips compressed briefly before he replied.

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Harry," he began, a frown creasing his forehead. "If you were just asking me if this is what it was like the first time around, then the answer is a qualified 'yes'. There was a lot of tension in the school, and many of the types of fights you mentioned, although I can't remember the _Hufflepuffs_ being particularly affected. Still, it was a very stressful time, and everyone coped in different ways – for example, your godfather made every effort to have even _more_ fun – if that was possible – despite your father being less available. He and your mother had begun dating, and his duties as a Head Boy took up a lot of time as well. I sometimes wondered if that was part of the reason Dumbledore chose him – James had an excellent reputation for dueling, and he was probably able to handle a lot more trouble himself than most of the other possible candidates that year."

"Oh, _great_," Harry muttered, grimacing. Remus regarded him sympathetically, and reached out to clasp him gently on the shoulder.

"I wish I could tell you that the Headmaster never considered your ability to handle yourself in a crisis when he chose you, Harry, but I'm fairly certain that he did," the older man admitted gravely, "which is part of the reason I was struggling with how to answer your question. Yes, the problems you're seeing are probably pretty 'normal' under the circumstances, but that doesn't mean you can afford to dismiss them, or let your guard down. It sounds like the situation at the school is deteriorating, and you'll need to be prepared for it to get worse before it gets better."

Harry closed his eyes painfully. _Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?_ Remus' grip on his shoulder tightened, and he opened his eyes to meet the intent amber ones regarding him earnestly.

"You're not in this alone, Harry," Remus assured him forcefully. "Don't _ever_ think that. We're all here for you."

"I know, it's just –" Harry couldn't quite find the words to express the oppressive weight of this responsibility and his desperate wish to be free of it, at least for a little while, but Remus seemed to read it in his expression, and his father's friend used the hand clasped on Harry's shoulder to pull him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said gently, although he was holding Harry very firmly. "I wish I could make this easier for you." Harry hid his face for a minute, and wondered if it was a sign of, well, _weakness_ that he found it so comforting.

> > > > > > > >

Remus felt wretched about his earlier unvoiced assumption that Harry didn't really need him just because he _looked_ fine when he arrived – not all injuries were visible ones.

He felt worse about not being able to offer Harry much in the way of comfort, knowing what he did about the anticipated destruction of the school in only a few months. He couldn't insult Harry with a soothing lie by telling him that the situation was not as bad as it seemed – but neither could he tell him the full truth. Once he started to share any of it – well, Harry was too shrewd to accept only part of the truth, but even if he had wanted to add to Harry's burdens by sharing their knowledge of the future, which he didn't, telling Harry that Voldemort had won would have been impossibly cruel. Perhaps one day, Harry would need to know – dear heaven, he hoped not – but there was no reason to inflict that knowledge on him today.

Instead, Remus compensated by feeding him.

Harry, who seemed to have perked up noticeably after their talk despite the fact that Remus didn't think he'd said anything at all reassuring, dug into his breakfast like the hungry seventeen year old he was. When they finished eating, Harry helped to clear, and then seemed to take it for granted that he would also help wash the dishes – apparently, the Muggle way again. Remus hid a smile as he told Harry where he kept the dish towels and went to join him at the sink. When Harry hesitantly apologized for the third time, Remus was able to let him with better grace.

"Don't let it worry you, Harry," he said with an easy smile. "I brought you here this summer just so you would be able to come and see me if you wanted to, and I'm glad that you did. Although I have to admit I never pictured _quite_ such a dramatic entrance!" he teased. Harry's face colored, but he was able to chuckle in response.

"I, er," Harry seemed suddenly interested in making sure that there was not a particle of food left on what already appeared to be a very well scrubbed plate. "I didn't want anything to happen to you." He darted a glance at Remus. "That was Alex?" he asked, adding hastily, "I couldn't see her very well – not that I was _trying_ to –" Remus laughed out loud.

"Yes, it was Alex," he confirmed, adding casually, "she went home to change and take care of some things, but she'll be back with lunch for all of us a bit later."

"I probably ought to be getting back pretty soon," Harry told him. "I don't want Ron and Hermione to worry when they realize I'm gone." Remus felt an icy wave of fear surge through him and set the pan he'd just picked up back down again.

"You didn't tell either of them you were coming?" he asked carefully.

"No, they weren't up yet when I thought of it."

"Harry –" Oh, blast, he didn't want to yell at him, but – "I want you to know you're always free to come here, but I'd really appreciate it if you would let someone know when you do. If anything had happened to you on the way, I wouldn't have known you were missing, and no one would have known where you were going. I don't want anything to happen to you either, you know."

"Yeah, I – I will next time," Harry said, looking rather abashed. "I promise."


	32. Consequences

Ron was worried when Harry got back, but Hermione was not – a fact which Harry was forced shortly to hope was not going to affect the relationship between his two best friends.

"_Harry_! Where have you _been_?" Ron demanded the instant Harry walked into the common room. Harry walked over to the table where his best friends were playing chess. Hermione was regarding her boyfriend with more than a little irritation.

"I went to see Remus," Harry explained in an undertone once he was close enough. "Sorry I didn't say anything."

"_Really_?" Hermione drawled. "After telling Ron you were going to get in a little early Quidditch practice?" Ron looked every bit as desperately nervous as Neville had facing Professor Snape in their early years, but Neville had never looked so obviously guilty.

"Well, I _meant_ to get in some early practice," Harry lied quickly, just as Ron started speaking as well.

"I might have _misunderstood_ when –"

"_Don't bother_," Hermione told them sharply, glaring at both of them. "_Honestly,_ both of you should know better by now. Harry, you _know_ what could happen, and you _know_ who's after you – how could you just take off on the spur of the moment – and leave school grounds – without telling anyone where you were going?" Harry felt himself wilting under Hermione's fierce gaze, but just as he opened his mouth (without the slightest idea what he was going to say), she turned that gaze on Ron. "And _you_! What kind of relationship do you think we would have if you keep trying to hide anything that might upset me?" she demanded before flouncing off.

"Sorry about that," Harry said sympathetically, while Ron slumped back in his chair with a downcast expression.

"Not your fault, mate," Ron told him valiantly. "Shouldn't have told her that Quidditch practice thing – I don't know why I said it. I looked for you when I got up and then when I couldn't find you at breakfast and Hermione asked – well, I didn't want her to worry and it just sort of – came out that way. Do you think she's really angry?" he asked miserably.

"I'm sure she'll get over it," Harry reassured his best friend, more because it seemed to be the thing to say than because he believed it. Ron's expression remained mournful.

Harry refrained from sharing with Ron his sudden insight that Ron really looked quite a bit like his father.

-&--&--&-

Fortunately for Ron, _The Daily Prophet_ ran an article on Monday morning that drew Hermione's ire. She had been muttering under her breath between little huffy snorts while she read her copy of the wizarding newspaper at breakfast. Although this wasn't exactly unusual, it did prompt him to ask her about it anyway.

"I've just been reading about a new piece of legislation," she explained, still frowning. "I can't think _how_ they ever got it past the International Confederation, but the Americans are up in arms about it, so it may not last long." The last was said with some satisfaction before Hermione took a large and forceful bite of toast.

"What legislation?" Harry prodded as Ron picked up the paper his girlfriend had set down in annoyance.

"The Enabling Act for Anti-Wizarding Behavior Orders."

"What's that?"

"The spokeswitch they interviewed kept going on about 'promoting social harmony among wizards,' but when you look at the actual legislation, it's obvious that it's just an excuse to broaden the Ministry's powers! The Ministry of Magic will have the power to issue Anti-Wizarding Behavior Orders, and violation of the orders is a breach of wizarding law."

"What's the big deal about that?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Don't you see? The AWBOs give the Ministry broad new powers – over _everything_," she explained. "Even if you would normally be allowed to do something, the Ministry can just issue an AWBO that says you can't – and then if you do, you've breached wizarding law, and they can send you to Azkaban! They could issue an AWBO prohibiting Charlie from Apparating from The Burrow to Bill's flat, even though he has his ticket."

"Why would they want to do that?" Ron asked, obviously bemused. "Who cares if Charlie Apparates over to visit Bill?"

"It doesn't matter _why_, Ron, the point is that they _can_. It could be for any reason, or no reason at all. Maybe someone complains that they don't want the noise – or maybe the Ministry just decides that they want to test out some new type of Apparition trap. They could arrest Charlie and throw him in Azkaban for doing something that _isn't against the law _– all they have to do is tell him not to. It's just another version of those decrees we had from Umbridge – but this time, they're not just using them on the students."

"They wouldn't use these AWBO things that way," he said slowly, but Ron's freckles had become very prominent against his skin. "They just wouldn't."

"Who's in charge of issuing them?" Harry asked.

"Doesn't say – there's a new office being created, but the appointments haven't been announced yet."

"What are we going to do?" Ron asked nervously, and the three friends exchanged glances.

"There's nothing we can do at the moment," Harry said, voicing what they all knew. "No one's going to listen to us about something like this anyway – they're all too scared right now, and this makes them feel better, like they're doing something, even though it's the wrong thing."

"Well, this isn't going to make it better, it'll just make it worse," Ron pointed out. "Voldemort's not going to be scared of an AWBO!"

-&--&--&-

Lisa seemed to have a similar opinion of the new legislation when Harry saw her in the hall a short time later – almost literally, as she was just putting the newspaper into her book bag as she rounded the corner and didn't see him. Fortunately, Harry's Quidditch reflexes were just as useful in avoiding collisions.

"Sorry –" they both apologized simultaneously, and then they both laughed.

"Are you –? Harry gestured vaguely in an unspoken invitation, prompting Lisa to nod easily and fall into step with him.

"How's Neville doing?" she asked. Harry grimaced in reply, wondering what you were supposed to say in these situations. Neville's misery didn't seem to be the sort of thing Harry ought to be sharing.

"I hope they patch things up," Lisa continued easily.

"Yeah. Did you see the _Prophet_ this morning?" he asked, mostly to change the subject.

"Anti-Wizarding Behavior Orders?" Her expression changed. "I can scarcely believe they managed to get that through, but fear seems to bring out the worst in people."

"Do you think they're really going to use them?"

"Do you think they can resist that kind of power?" Lisa grimaced expressively. "Hardly."

"Is that really why they –"

"No," she said thoughtfully, "but I think that makes it worse in some ways." Harry glanced at her in inquiry, and she explained. "Some of them really do think it's for the best – mostly because they're scared, and this seems like a way to show that they can do something – but they don't see the danger because that's not what they're thinking about. And because they believe what they're doing is right, it will be _very_ hard to convince them to change their minds. The ones who are only after power don't commit to anything like that – and that means they _can_ be persuaded to change their minds."

Harry paused at the door to the classroom, his distaste apparent on his face. "So the best chance to get this repealed may mean –"

"Trying to cut a deal with people who are only interested in personal power," Lisa confirmed. Her eyes twinkled at him for a moment. "You know, Harry, you're probably not well suited to a career in politics – and I mean that as a compliment."

It seemed to Harry to be a little early to think much about career plans – it didn't seem late enough to even worry about Christmas shopping and Christmas was a lot closer than graduation – but it suddenly seemed impossible to get away from the subject. The brochures and career counseling sessions had reappeared, and even the new class for sixth and seventh year students was a reminder of sorts. One of their long-term assignments was about to begin, a budgeting exercise that was supposed to simulate the experience of managing your funds in real life – based on the amount you could expect to earn in your chosen career.

Harry hadn't realized that they would be paired up to do this, or that his partner would be assigned. But the professors seemed to have tried to pair people up who were going together, which was something – although Harry decided he would rather not think about exactly what or how the professors knew. This meant that Hermione and Ron were working together, leaving Harry to be paired up with Ginny, which he thought was rather odd. But then, Harry really hadn't dated very many people, so he decided that they must have set the pairings before the trip to Hogsmeade and not known who he wanted to partner with. Lisa was assigned to work with Terry Boot, who was in her house, so perhaps that was how they did it. Considering the level of tension among the members of the student body, he could understand why the faculty might decide not to risk any cross-house pairings, but it saddened him.

"So – career?" Ginny prompted him as they reseated themselves in response to Professor Flitwick's direction and settled down to get started.

"I dunno. Auror, I suppose," Harry said indifferently. Ginny regarded him shrewdly.

"Is that really what you want to do?" she asked.

"Well – sort of," he replied awkwardly. "And I seem to end up, well, involved in things whether I want to be or not. I may as well start getting paid for it!" The joke fell flat.

"Harry," Ginny reached out to him impulsively and covered her hand with his. He thought distractedly that she had very nice hands before he jerked his mind back to her words. "This is supposed to be a chance to explore our options, start thinking seriously about what our choices might mean for the rest of our lives. You don't have to be an Auror just because Voldemort is after you – you've already proven that you don't have to be an Auror to defeat him." Her words sent a warm glow through him, and he found himself turning his hand over to clasp hers in appreciation.

"No, but the training will help, and it's not training I can easily get anywhere else," he pointed out. "Besides, I – everyone seems to –" Harry broke off abruptly, suddenly realizing that he, as much as anyone else, had simply expected that he would at least _try_ to become an Auror. He knew he would have to come up with an alternative plan in the event he wasn't accepted, but, well, he sort of thought he'd worry about it if and when it happened.

"You're mostly right about the training," Ginny was saying, "although you could get some of the –" She stopped and looked at Harry meaningfully, obviously mindful of the fact that they were far from alone. "I'm sure that there are people who would help you with that if you asked." Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley, Harry translated mentally, nodding his understanding. "Is there anything else you'd like to do if you didn't have to worry about Voldemort?" Ginny probed gently.

"Not really an option," Harry said shortly.

"It will be one day," she retorted, and Harry found her conviction lifting his spirits. Most of the time, people saying stuff like that – sort of assuming he was going to be able to defeat Voldemort – weighed on him instead.

"Okay, okay," Harry conceded with a quick grin, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"So, what would you like to do?" Ginny persisted.

"Play Quidditch," he blurted out, saying the first thing that popped into his head.

"Oliver," Ginny decided.

"Huh?"

"We can get information from Oliver Wood," Ginny explained. "About the job requirements, salary –" Harry blinked, and pushed his glasses further up on his nose.

"You want me to write to Oliver and ask him how much money he makes? I can't do that."

"Asking him what salary a starting player can expect isn't quite the same thing as asking him for his salary," Ginny pointed out. "We're looking for a reasonable range, it doesn't have to be exactly what Oliver earns. Or earned when he was first signed; he has been playing for a couple years and he's a starter now."

The whole idea was both exhilarating and unnerving. Harry wasn't sure he was ready to declare, even for a project, that he wanted to be a professional Quidditch player. He wasn't at all sure that he _did _want to play Quidditch professionally, it was just the first thing that popped into his head. He loved the game – and he was a pretty good seeker – but that didn't mean he wanted to make a career out of it.

Ron's sister really was a good friend. _Ron's sister_, he reminded himself, withdrawing his hand.

-&--&--&-

Lisa was assisting Professor Flitwick with some sort of project when the next Hogsmeade weekend arrived, and had to beg off, leaving Harry wondering whether or not he ought to go with Ron and Hermione. His best friend seemed to know what Harry was thinking, however, and spoke up immediately.

"You won't be playing gooseberry," Ron assured him. "It's not as if we're going to start snogging in the middle of Hogsmeade."

"Astronomy Tower?" Harry guessed, grinning at his best friend – partially in relief that the relationships among the trio hadn't changed all _that_ much.

"Too crowded," Ron retorted, grinning back. "I never had any idea how many couples there were at Hogwarts until we tried to find a private spot there on a Saturday night."

Seamus and Neville came in just then. "Hey, Harry, Ron," Seamus greeted them cheerfully, while Neville just nodded and went to get his pajamas to change for bed.

Ron flopped cheerfully down on his bed, lying on his stomach facing Harry through the space between the testers. "We're just discussing snogging spots," he announced roguishly. "Harry's trying to guess mine."

"Broom closet?" Seamus suggested. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh, _please_," he scoffed. "Even if there was any place to get comfortable, which there isn't, the smell alone would put anyone off."

"Unless you both had colds," Neville suggested, starting to get into the spirit of things just a little.

"What's _your_ guess?" Seamus asked him. There was a momentary silence as all three of the other boys waited to see if Neville was going to be able to reply in the same jocular vein, or if the question would upset him too much to answer.

Finally, Neville spoke, smiling a little as he said the words. It was a little shaky, but his roommates were happy to see it just the same.

"Well, there's always the Room of Requirement," he said simply, and the other three were so relieved that they laughed more than they would have otherwise in response.

"Not original, but still a worthy contender," Seamus conceded. "Well, Ron?" Ron shook his head.

"Nope, sorry."

"What's not original?" Dean asked, coming in balancing a selection of drawing pencils on top of the portfolio he used to keep his art work together.

"Snogging in the Room of Requirement," Seamus explained. "We're trying to guess where Ron and Hermione go when they want – _private_ time," he finished, wagging his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Any guesses?" Harry asked Dean. "We've already eliminated astronomy tower, broom closets, and the Room of Requirement."

"Broom closets?" Dean looked puzzled. "Why would anyone risk Filch?"

"Filch?"

"Who else goes into the broom closets?" Dean pointed out.

"Oh, _blech_." Ron looked like he had bitten a large bunch of vomit flavored Every Flavor Beans when replied. "What a disgusting idea!"

"Any more guesses?" Seamus prompted.

"Well, he's not using the fourth floor alcove overlooking the lake," Dean told them, prompting a chorus of comments. "Maybe the greenhouses? There's a gorgeous garden between two of them near the back. I keep meaning to do a pastel of it."

"He hasn't been using the greenhouses," Neville told them, producing a general consensus that they were stumped.

"There's a little room hidden away in a corner of the library that's supposed to be used for small study groups," Ron confessed with a broad grin.

Harry blinked. "Is there really? I never knew that."

Ron shrugged. "Everyone uses the common room or one of the center tables," he pointed out. "How many people search out additional places to _study_?"

Harry grinned back at him. "And here I just assumed the location was noted in _Hogwarts, a History_!"

-&--&--&-

"So how's the project going?" Ron asked in a carefully casual tone that would definitely have alerted Harry if he hadn't been preoccupied.

"Project?" Harry echoed absently, watching Neville carefully adding dragon dung to a plant he was nurturing as part of his seventh year project in Advanced Herbology. Neville seemed to be bearing up a little better – but then, Neville had borne much more than most people realized for a very long time, and he'd done it in silence.

"– all these serious discussions," Ron was saying. "About jobs, and budgets, and children, and stuff. I don't mind it really, except that she keeps wanting me to have opinions about it all, and I just _don't_. Well, not _yet_. Not about everything." Harry made a noncommittal noise, and Ron paused long enough to shoot Harry a very odd look – sort of serious and surprisingly shrewd. "So how's yours going?"

Harry quickly jerked his mind back. "Working with Ginny? It's fine." Ron smoothed out his parchment and began to deliberately unscrew the top of his ink bottle.

"And the discussion thing? How's that going with the two of you?" Ron persisted.

Harry blinked. "It's fine," he repeated automatically, then wondered if he was sounding like he couldn't think of anything else to say. "She had some good ideas, and I think we'll do well." He shifted in his seat next to Ron and grinned at his best friend. "Even if we don't have as much detail in ours as you and Hermione do," Harry teased.

"_No one_ is going to have as much detail as we do," Ron retorted instantly, rolling his eyes.

"So, what'd you pick for your career?" Harry asked, regretting the question when he saw Ron's uncomfortable expression.

"Well, that was sort of, er –"

"Not that it means much," Harry interjected kindly, "expecting us to map out the rest of our lives when we haven't even graduated yet."

"Er, yeah," Ron agreed instantly, and immediately dropped the subject.

His curiosity having been aroused, Harry was strongly tempted to find out from Hermione exactly what occupation Ron had chosen for their project, but the first time he had to opportunity to speak with her privately, she managed to completely drive the question right out of his head by asking to borrow the collection of pictures of his parents that Hagrid had given him.

"You – what?" he said stupidly. Hermione was biting her lip slightly, but regarding him with a determined plea in her warm brown eyes.

"I'll take _very_ good care of them, Harry, _really_ I will," she assured him anxiously. "I just need to borrow them for a little while, not very long at all. And I'll bring them back directly."

"Hermione –" Harry swallowed hard. "This doesn't make any sense," he pointed out. "Those pictures – why would you need _them_? They aren't important to anyone but me, except – well, I don't have anything else that – if anything –" This was a lot more important than borrowing the Cloak, even if it had been his father's. His _pictures_ – Harry's hands rose defensively, but Hermione reached out and took them in her own, stilling them as she forced Harry to meet her eyes.

"Harry, I can't tell you why I need to borrow them just yet, but I _know_ what they mean to you, I _do_," Hermione insisted. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you'd approve, and I won't let anything happen to them, Harry, I _swear_." They stood frozen that way for a moment, Harry's thoughts racing. He couldn't think of any possible reason for Hermione to borrow his picture album, and he couldn't bear to think of anything happening to it.

And the only reason to do as she suggested was simply because he trusted her.

Hermione just kept _looking_ at him, and Harry closed his eyes against hers.

"I – yeah, okay," he managed jerkily, tugging his hands away and avoiding her eyes. "It's – in my trunk."

"It doesn't have to be now," Hermione told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Saturday would be fine. I just didn't want to surprise you at the last minute, I was trying to ask ahead of time, give you some time to get adjusted to the idea." Harry blinked hard.

"You might as well take it now," he managed gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Hermione seemed to take an unconscionably long time about it. He could tell she was trying to be careful, but he would rather she just did it quickly.

She murmured, "Thank you, Harry," and touched his shoulder again before she left.

-&--&--&-

Alex had picked up takeaway for supper, selecting a fairly mild pasta for them to share rather than anything spicier in view of Remus' enhanced senses, but he appreciated her presence more than the food. He was able to relax when she did, and she remained remarkably unafraid of his transformations or of Moony. He was even able to joke a little about it when they retired to the study where Severus had left his potion. It didn't seem to taste quite as bad as usual.

"At least I seem to be getting used to the taste," he commented, pulling her a little closer with one arm and making a face as he downed a bit more.

Alex grinned at him and opened her mouth to say something, but then an odd expression crossed her face and she frowned. With a worried glance at the nearly empty goblet, she disappeared into Cat and leapt lightly on to his lap.

"Alex, what are you doing?" Remus asked, watching her whiskers twitch lightly above the goblet.

Alex transformed back again, still frowning, but now without a trace of humor in her eyes. "I'm not sure," she admitted, picking up the goblet, "but I think we need to talk to Severus."

Severus had just begun assisting Draco with a very interesting experiment the young man had devised regarding a Synchronicity Draught when Alex arrived. She simply appeared in his fireplace with no prior warning (other than the sudden flaring of flames) dressed in Muggle clothes rather than proper robes. _Damn and blast!_

"Keep stirring, Draco," he directed calmly as he noted the stutter in the younger man's previously smooth stirring, warning Alex with his eyes to keep quiet. "It won't be done for at least three and a half minutes." He raised a brow at Alex, who thankfully hadn't said anything, although she was carrying a goblet – the one he had left for the wolf, if he was not mistaken. Draco's eyes were alight with curiosity, and Severus tried to warn Alex with his eyes while Draco's attention was on her rather than him. She stepped forward just as though she were expected.

"I apologize for the intrusion," she began smoothly, "but I wanted to get your expert opinion on this as soon as possible." Alex handed him the goblet with no other explanation, and Severus kept his face bland with only mild intellectual curiosity as he received it. Then he lowered his head slightly and inhaled – after which his habit of self-discipline was what allowed him to maintain the posture.

His mind racing with questions he was unable to voice, he confined himself to merely murmuring, "Interesting." He handed the goblet back to Alex – safer than setting it down with Draco in the room, although his fingers itched as he released it. "If it is my expert opinion that you seek, however, you will have to allow me time to perform an appropriate evaluation." His tone was slightly dismissive, and he turned back to the Synchronicity Draught as though it were more interesting.

"You will need to adjust that flame shortly," he advised his favorite student, recalling Draco's attention to the potion. He maintained the appearance of being wholly absorbed in the experiment – and thus oblivious to Alex's continued presence – for the remainder of Draco's time in the laboratory. However, when the younger man finally left, it was the first time Severus could remember feeling quite so pleased to see him go.

Alex did not immediately launch into speech after his departure – another point in her favor, he admitted silently. Instead she questioned him with a glance, which he answered by raising his wand and beginning the sequence of charms that would secure the room. He had barely finished when he spoke.

"Where is he?" Severus demanded.

"Still at home," she told him, offering the goblet again. He forced himself to take it from her without unseemly haste. He inhaled again, separating out the various scents, as Alex took a seat on one of the lab stools. "Isn't that dangerous?" she asked curiously. "Inhaling things, I mean. If it were a –"

"Yes," he said briefly, mostly to get her to stop talking. Fortunately, she took the hint and sat quietly while he performed the tests that would confirm what he already knew. Fifteen minutes later, he had his confirmation. _Damn and blast! _He set the goblet down. "You may as well bring him through." He waited until the wolf had arrived and taken the seat Alex had vacated when she asked him to join them.

"It has definitely been tampered with," he declared, watching the color drain out of the wolf's face. "I've still got some of tonight's batch if you care to try it, but I don't know how effective it will be mixing with what's already in your system."

"It was tampered with," the wolf repeated, shock and disbelief still obvious in his tones and his expression. Alex, who was standing behind him, slipped an arm about him, and the wolf clasped her hand when she did. "_How_?"

"The easiest way to sabotage it would be sugar, of course," Severus said casually, eyeing the wolf for a reaction. He was tempted to add a word about chocolate, but in the state the wolf was in, he would barely even process it. He couldn't even manage a plausible accusation – Lupin might never become a master brewer, but he was much too careful about the Wolfsbane to make a mistake like that. "I left it for you at half six in the usual place on the desk. What happened after that?"

"I – we –"

"We ate supper in the kitchen," Alex supplied deftly, "but I'm not sure what time it was when we went into the study." She looked to the wolf again, who had recovered most of his composure if not his color.

"Only a few minutes," he said quietly, still quite pale. "I try to keep an eye on the clock so I can drink it while it's fresh."

"And I don't suppose you know who was in your study," Severus said calmly, repressing a sigh.

"Alex and I were both in the kitchen the whole time," the wolf began. "I thought the protective spells on the house were rather more than the usual –"

"Neither of you ever left the kitchen?" Severus interrupted.

"No, of –" the wolf began blankly, then his eyes flashed as he absorbed the implication of the question. Alex laid a restraining hand on his arm and he took hold of himself. "Certainly not," he finished abruptly, and Severus decided wearily that he would get nothing of any further use from the wolf.

"Well, if you've nothing more useful to contribute at present, do you wish to take another dose before you leave?"

The wolf just stared blankly at the goblet, and it was Alex who answered. "Is that what you recommend?"

Severus thought quickly. Unfortunately, there was no clear-cut answer. The contaminated potion was already in the wolf's system, and the additional potion might not have any beneficial effect. On the other hand, Severus had a shrewd suspicion that Wolfsbane worked by inflicting carefully calibrated damage on certain aspects of the subject's system, which was one reason that the doses were so carefully measured and timed. It was quite possible that the additional uncontaminated potion could increase the harmful effects without providing the control offered by the potion when properly administered. An interesting problem, and once the potion had been perfected, there had been little opportunity for experimentation.

"I'm inclined to think so, but I can give you no assurances regarding what effect it will have," he announced, already knowing what the wolf would do.

-&--&--&-

Remus was numb.

He had downed the additional potion Severus gave him without comment and let Alex lead him home. When he came back to himself a bit, he realized that he was settled comfortably on the sofa, holding a half-empty cup of unsweetened tea with Alex cuddled against him under a blanket she must have wrapped around them both.

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Someone must have –"

"Yes."

"But _why_? What could possibly be the point?" The anguish echoed in his voice.

"I don't know." Simple and honest. He set the tea cup down and wrapped both his arms around her.

"The house is supposed to be protected," he pointed out, his mind starting to work on the problem. He'd gotten too comfortable, too careless. It shouldn't have been a shock, and even so, he shouldn't have reacted as he had. He'd let his guard down, and that was something he couldn't afford to do. He had no right to risk anyone else's safety. "I'll send a note to Moody and have him take a look," he decided aloud, withdrawing from Alex gently, but firmly, as his mind progressed to the next logical conclusion. "And you won't be able to be with me this time."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I will," she said decisively.

"Alex, we don't know what might happen, and I will _not_ take chances with your safety," he argued.

"You'd prefer someone else?" she asked tartly.

"_What_?"

"Well, I agree that we don't know what might happen, which means there needs to be _somebody_ with you," she argued. "If you're going to tell me you'd prefer someone else – say Albus, or Minerva – I'm willing to listen, although I can't say _I'd_ have picked this as the best time to foist a stranger off on Moony. _I_ think it makes more sense to stick to someone he already knows."

Remus opened his mouth to refute this – he really didn't want to put _anyone_ at risk – but then the entire argument unfolded in his mind (even the parts they hadn't actually spoken out loud yet), and the problem was that Alex had a point. Even if he locked himself up, there could have been something in the tainted potion to allow whoever provided it to locate him, or summon him, or control the wolf – the possibilities were numerous and terrifying. If he (or Moony) was being set up, then the best way of countering the danger was to have another witch or wizard with him during his transformation. It would almost have to be an Animagus, although perhaps Tonks (in a suitable form) might not be considered human by the wolf; it wasn't exactly an area appropriate for experimentation. Alex was both unregistered and relatively unknown (meaning even to Peter), and Moony did seem quite fond of Cat.

So Remus needed to make up his mind to accept this risk to Alex, or to demand that someone else accept an even bigger one – a point Alex had understood immediately. Judging from the look in her eyes, it was not one she was going to let go of.

_Damn, damn, DAMN!_

Remus closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. When he opened them again, Alex was regarding him with the same stubborn determination.

"Will you think I'm whinging if I tell you that sometimes I really hate this?" he asked evenly.

Alex knew him well enough not to respond in words. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him again and, after a momentary hesitation, Remus responded in kind.

They stood that way for a long time.


	33. A Tricky Transformation

Remus was unsurprised to find that Severus had already informed the Headmaster when he went to visit him the following day, however it did not make the visit any less awkward. For all that Dumbledore was perfectly matter of fact about the situation – albeit in his usual sympathetic manner – there were too many difficulties in conversing with him about it. The Headmaster tactfully glossed over any discussion of how the problem was discovered and moved on to the topic of what additional precautions Remus could take.

This was when things got sticky.

Even if Remus had wanted to speak about Alex, he was certainly not going to reveal that she was an unlicensed Animagus. This left him unable to explain why he refused to have anyone else in or near the house the following night during the full moon. After he had repeatedly turned down suggestions involving various other members of the Order for whom safety would arguably not be as much of an issue, Dumbledore offered to stay with Remus personally. Remus' refusal seemed like a rejection of an olive branch, which made him feel horribly guilty.

By the time Remus left, his head was throbbing, but he couldn't risk a headache potion when no one knew what might already be in his system. He tried to lie down for a while, hoping a nap might ease the pain a little, but he wasn't able to really sleep. Without the comfort of Alex's presence, he was unable to manage even the restless, intermittent dozing of the previous night. Worse, it was Thursday, which meant both that he would not get to see her that evening and that he had his own obligations to attend to which would preclude retiring early.

Severus brought his potion to the meeting of the Order that evening, delivering it directly into his hands and then standing over him as he drank it while the other members were filing in. This was a fitting start for a meeting in which one of the main topics of conversation was his imminent transformation, with an emphasis on who might have been responsible for tampering with his potion and what should be done about it.

Already out of sorts, the best Remus could say about the meeting that night was that somehow he managed to endure it. Bill was one of the few not to react to the news as though Remus was the victim of an epic tragedy, and as a result, Remus was able to comfortably accept Bill's offer to make sure he got home safely. In his current state, Apparition was riskier than usual.

As he finally fell into bed, Remus wondered yet again if he was doing the right thing.

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Alex slept restlessly at best. Under stress, her mind churned busily, running through everything that might happen and mentally rehearsing the best responses. It was probably useful from a planning perspective, but sooner or later this was going to take too much of a toll on her body. Mental preparation wouldn't be enough if her exhausted body was too sluggish to execute whatever orders were issued by her brain.

Knowing this left her frantically trying to force her body into a proper sleep, an effort that was doomed to failure before it began. She couldn't seem to keep herself from checking the clock, automatically calculating exactly how much time she had left to hurry up and sleep. As the night wore on and that number dwindled, her anxiety increased. She would finally manage to doze for a bit, only to be jerked awake again. Ordering herself not to worry was almost as effective as any effort to ignore the whole herd of elephants in a very tiny tent.

She was guiltily aware that being with Remus would have helped, which only added to her anxiety. Would her presence during the full moon really help him, or was this just a subconscious excuse to ease her own mind? The fact that she wanted to be with him didn't mean that it was really what was best for him. Moony's familiarity with Cat had been a valid point, but then she had sort of inflicted herself on him originally, he hadn't ever _asked_ her to be there to begin with. What if he should have had someone else there, perhaps Albus, or Minerva, or even Tonks? She didn't remember anything about Remus' potion having been tampered with, but then it wasn't about Harry, so maybe that was why.

Or maybe it hadn't ever happened in the original time line, maybe she _caused _it!

Oh god, she wasn't supposed to interfere. The whole thing was probably her fault. Only there wasn't any point in wallowing in guilt, no matter how much she deserved it. That too was just another form of self indulgence, and if she had caused this then that was what had gotten her into this mess. What she really needed to do was to figure out what might happen and how to keep Remus and Moony safe.

This left her right back at the beginning again, trying to figure out everything that might go wrong and mentally rehearsing her responses to every separate scenario. Restful it was not.

As Alex finally got out of bed the following morning, she wondered yet again if she was doing the right thing.

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An owl dropped a message right in the middle of the table at breakfast, narrowly missing a large bowl of porridge. Seamus picked it up, glanced at it, and handed it to Harry.

"You 'n Ginny," he mumbled.

Harry accepted it with some surprise, checking it again to make sure he hadn't misunderstood, but it was right there, inked on the envelope. _Ginny Weasley_ on the top line, with _Harry Potter_ just below it. The sight of the names together like that did something to his stomach.

"Are you going to open it?" Ginny asked from her seat next to Hermione. Harry swallowed reflexively.

"Uh –"

"I expect it's from Oliver," she continued.

"Oliver," Harry echoed stupidly. Hermione was regarding him with that infuriating expression that meant she knew something he didn't and should.

"Oliver Wood," Ginny told him patiently. "Writing with information about salary ranges for first year Quidditch players."

"For the project," Harry said, trying to sound as though he had known this all along. Pulling himself together – and still confused about why he needed to – he thrust the letter at her. "Why don't you take it?" he suggested, hoping he didn't sound at all desperate. Ginny accepted the letter calmly, and gratitude surged through him that she wasn't making a big deal about it. Hermione kept looking at him until she flinched (from the way she and Ron looked at each other, Harry strongly suspected Ron had kicked her under the table) and went back to eating her breakfast.

"This is perfect, Harry," Ginny announced, her eyes skimming rapidly over the parchment. "He gave us a lot more than we needed – not just salary ranges, but their travel allowances, uniform costs – lots of detail."

"Great," Harry said, feeling that he was supposed to say something.

"I'll keep this with the draft budget so we can go over them later."

Harry nodded, and Ginny gathered up her things to head off to Advanced Transfiguration. Once she was gone, Hermione turned to Harry and began to speak. "_Honestly,_ Harry, sometimes I think you must be the most –" her voice caught in her throat, and she glared at Ron, who, much to Harry's amazement, told her "_No,_" very firmly. Hermione's lips compressed angrily.

"But –"

"I said 'No'," Ron repeated.

There seemed to be a silent battle of wills going on between them, and it was quickly becoming clear that Ron was the one winning. After a few moments, Hermione muttered, "Oh, _very well_," quite huffily, picked up her bookbag, and marched out.

Harry intended to press Ron for an explanation of this odd behavior, but was distracted by their next lesson, which proved to be on Contraceptive Charms. Professor Flitwick was perfectly matter of fact about the whole thing, but it just wasn't that sort of topic – at least not if you were a seventeen year old boy. The girls seemed to be handling it better, but with more than a touch of condescension every time one of the boys did something they considered immature.

Harry thought that they were overdoing it, what with Lavender rolling her eyes when Justin asked what Harry considered a perfectly reasonable question. Professor Flitwick answered it too, blithely ignoring the sniffs and the snickers equally. It was only sensible to ask questions – how were you supposed to cast the charms if you didn't understand how things worked? But the girls seemed to feel that they already understood everything, which was really irritating.

Listening to Hermione and Ron arguing during the Practical Life Lessons work time that afternoon did little to restore his mood. Hermione had previously spent most of her time in these sessions pushing Ron to give an opinion. This afternoon, she seemed to be inclined to disagree with that opinion – whatever it was – on general principle. Ron, however, seemed to have retained some of the unusual determination he had displayed at breakfast, and while he wasn't simply refusing to change his position, there was an air of assurance about him that was a marked contrast to his previous bewilderment during those lessons.

Harry and Ginny, by contrast, worked through their exercises in relative ease. They seemed to have similar ideas about managing money, although Ginny had many more practical suggestions for cutting costs than Harry did. He had never had to worry much about money; in the wizarding world, he had plenty, and in the Muggle world, he had none.

"I think we're done," Ginny concluded, ignoring her brother and Hermione who were arguing about the expense of a motor car only a few feet away. She handed the parchment over to Harry, who scanned quickly through the neat lines of figures.

"I think using ranges really helped," he said as he tried to think of anything they might have missed. "It gives us a little room for flexibility that we wouldn't have if we'd budgeted down to the Knut." Ginny smiled a little wistfully.

"It's much nicer not to have to count every one," she admitted ruefully, "and I think we'd have enough to manage fairly well as long as we had both incomes."

"It would be quite a bit trickier with only one," Harry acknowledged instantly. _Particularly if there were a lot of children to raise_, he continued silently to himself. Any further thoughts he might have had were interrupted by the sound of Draco's protests to Professor Flitwick three tables away.

"But it's _ridiculous_!" Draco was arguing, while Pansy, seated cozily by his side, nodded virtuously. "You've already made this exercise completely useless by prohibiting the use of family money. It's stupid to pretend I'm not rich, but to expect that I'm going to start work as some miserable little underling –"

"No one starts out working as an Undersecretary to the Minister with no experience," Professor Flitwick declared, his squeaky voice quite firm. "The assignment requires you to use jobs for which you would be qualified immediately upon graduation." Pansy's usually unpleasant expression was not improved by a pout, and Draco's expression hardened.

"With my family's connections –" Draco began, but he was stopped by the pity obvious in Professor Flitwick's expression. There was a moment of silence, broken when the professor responded.

"You will need to meet the requirements if you wish to receive credit for the assignment, but you're welcome to complete the exercise as you've started it for your own purposes if you wish." His tone was gentle, a fact that Harry was convinced had hurt the Slytherin far more than a cutting remark would have done.

Draco's face was frozen as Professor Flitwick moved on.

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Friday wasn't much better for Remus than Thursday had been, although at least he didn't have to attend another meeting of the Order. On the other hand, it seemed as though most of its members visited his home at some point during the day, so he might as well have offered to host one. At least then the visits would have been a little better organized.

Instead, it seemed that every time he tried to take a few minutes to pull himself together, the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of a new visitor. He knew that they all meant well, so he forced himself to be polite, but what the visits mostly did was make he miss his friends. James and Sirius had been berks from time to time, but they had always protected him on pre-moon days.

The stream of visitors extended into the weekend, which would have made it more difficult to spend any real time with Alex even if she had been more available. He understood the reasons for this; she had some errands she had to take care one way or another, and she had rearranged her schedule to make sure she could be with him all day on Sunday. She did bring her books with her when she arrived earlier than he expected on Saturday, apologizing for the need, but Remus was able to assure her with complete honesty that he didn't care if she had to do some reading as long as she was there.

He didn't tell her that her presence was the only reason he managed to get any sleep that night.

Sunday was one of the more stressful pre-transformation days he'd had since the invention of Wolfsbane. He had no idea what effect the contaminated potion would have, and his mind spun uselessly for most of the day.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he muttered as the afternoon wore on.

"Maybe what isn't a good idea?" Alex asked calmly.

"Your being here," he explained nervously. "It's just –" The instant their eyes met, he knew he was wasting his breath. He persisted anyway. "You don't have to –"

"Not if you prefer someone else," she agreed, knowing it wasn't really an option.

"Moody will be here soon," he ventured.

"Then perhaps I'd better change now," she said, sighing slightly. He crossed the room in a couple swift strides and caught her hands.

"Alex, I don't want anything to happen to you," he entreated. Her eyes softened, and she pushed forward to wrap her arms around him.

"Remus, being here with you is probably one of the safest things I've done in a long time," Alex pointed out.

"Is that supposed to be making me feel better?" he asked dryly, feeling some of his tension drain away as she leaned into him and chuckled slightly.

"There's no point in telling you not to worry," Alex said with resignation, "but try not to worry _too_ much."

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An owl received in the normal morning post was not as much of a cause for alarm as an owl at another time would have been, but Ron had already read this letter through a couple times, and now he seemed to be simply staring at it.

"Ron?" Harry prompted.

"Huh?" Ron looked up.

"Is everything all right?" Harry asked carefully.

"What?" Ron looked blank for a moment. "Oh, yeah, er, fine," he added, hastily refolding the letter. "But I think I'm going to go have a word with Professor McGonagall."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement before Ron rose and hurried toward the front of the room, where their Head of House was just leaving the table. They spoke for only a few moments before Ron returned.

"Er, Harry, I think I'll be going home for a bit," he said apologetically. "At the holidays, I mean. Just for a day or two – I'll be back here for Christmas." This had never happened in all the time the two boys had been at Hogwarts.

Harry knew Ron's main reason for staying was to keep Harry company, but at this point it was almost a tradition. For Ron to suddenly decide to break it during their last year together seemed out of character.

"Ron," Harry probed carefully, "are you _sure _everything is –"

"Yes, it's fine, Harry," Ron cut him off quickly, looking nervous and earnest at the same time. "There's nothing to worry about, I'm just going home for a couple days of the holiday break."

"Even though everything is all right?"

If everything was fine and Ron still left, what did that say about their friendship? Maybe what Harry thought of as a tradition just wasn't that important to Ron.

"Yes, _really_." Ron insisted earnestly. "I promise."

Harry's jaw clenched for a moment, and then he swallowed through the pain. "Fine," he said shortly. "Do as you like."

"_Harry_ –"

Harry ignored the pleading tone in Ron's voice and picked up his things.

"I'm going to the library," he said abruptly, and walked out.

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The first thing Remus noticed when he woke up the morning after his transformation was the smell of blood.

The rusty tang of it hung in the air, and it seemed to Remus that he could taste it on his tongue. The horror of the realization shot him bolt upright, his physical pain forgotten in the face of a much deeper distress.

"Alex!" he called desperately, his voice choking in the panicked tightness of his throat. His eyes searched the room for some sign of her, but the first thing he noticed was the near destruction of part of the study wall near the fireplace.

_I did that_, he recognized sickly, noting the familiar gouge marks that were the product of Moony's claws.

"Alex?" he repeated helplessly.

There was an indistinct mewl from under the settee, and Cat – blinking sleepily, but obviously injured – stepped out into the room. A moment later, Alex was there instead, but not even the fact that she had brought her clothes with her when she transformed could conceal the fact that she had been hurt.

_Oh, my god!_

It was his worst nightmare. Well, maybe not _quite _the worst, but close enough.

"How bad is it?" he demanded, pushing her down on the settee. "We need to get you to St. Mungo's," he announced, his voice high and shaky. He began removing her blouse to see how serious the damage was without waiting for an answer, his hands trembling as he did so.

"It's really not that bad, Remus," Alex told him clinically.

_Bite marks to her shoulder and arm,_ he told himself silently, trying desperately to retain enough control to help her, despite the fact that he felt like he was dying – wished he _had _died before hurting his Alex – and it was hard to think properly when all he wanted to do was scream. _Abrasions on both sides of her body._ His hands took careful and swift inventory, racing lightly over her familiar form, and Alex bore it patiently at first, but protested as he began a second, more thorough examination.

"There's nothing to fuss about," she said with some exasperation, "just the stuff around my arm and a few scrapes. Honestly, you're as bad as Moony!"

His hands dropped away.

"You don't want me touching you –" he said with difficulty.

"What?" Alex asked blankly, looking very puzzled, but Remus was fighting back tears and couldn't look at her just then. The dark red wounds, still bleeding a bit where teeth had punctured the skin, framed at irregular intervals by dark purple bruising –

"I understand," he managed. "I'll get you some –" Alex grasped his arm.

"Remus, you don't think _you_ did this?"

There was nothing he could say.

"Don't you – well, obviously you don't remember, but it _must _be obvious it wasn't you if you take the time to think about it."

He met her eyes this time, and was surprised to see that she looked more irritated than anything else – like disgusted or afraid.

"Just because I was Moony at the time doesn't mean I'm not responsible," he ventured. _I should never have let her stay – what was I thinking to take chances with her safety?_

"_Remus!_ You –" Alex, now openly angry, visibly reined in her temper and refrained from calling him whatever name had been on the tip of her tongue. She took a slow, deep breath and let it out carefully before continuing.

"Why don't we consider this objectively? Let's _assume_ that Moony bit Cat," she suggested icily. "Considering the size of his jaws and Cat's body, just what do you suppose that bite mark would look like on me now?"

Flinching at the thought, Remus forced himself to imagine Moony opening his jaws and –

"It would have covered most of your body," he realized. His eyes flew to the wounds on her shoulder, but this time, he was able to really look at them. Considering how tiny Cat really was, whatever bit her had to have been _much_ smaller than a werewolf.

"What was left of it," she agreed dryly.

His eyes sought the damaged section of wall he had noticed earlier. "But I did _that_," he asserted, recognizing the claw marks gouged in the surface.

"Oh, yes." Alex didn't seem at all troubled by this.

"What happened?" he asked for the first time.

Alex studied him curiously. "You really don't remember?"

He hadn't been trying to, of course. Once he had caught the scent of her blood, he hadn't been able to think clearly. Now, for the first time, he allowed himself to return in his mind to the experiences of the previous night. The potion must have had at least a partial effect, for he had some memories, but they were blurry and disjointed, as if he had been Confunded throughout the evening. Still, he could remember more than he had in his transformations before the potion.

"Just pieces," he confessed. "I haven't tried to sort them out, I, er –"

"Was too busy panicking?" Alex suggested, and he flushed.

"Sorry," he apologized, "and I didn't mean to get distracted. You really do need to get those taken care of." He rose to fetch his healing supplies, but Alex caught his arm once again.

"You first," she ordered quietly, and pulled him back down beside her.

It took him a while to pull himself together again after that.

As his reaction to the realization that he _hadn't_ been responsible for Alex's injuries caught up with him, so did all of his normal post-transformation pain and exhaustion. His first instinct was then to wrap his arms around Alex and hold on to her, but he had to be very careful of her abrasions, which reminded him yet again that he still hadn't done anything to help her. After assorted healing charms and bandages, and a prolonged argument (which Alex won) over whether she needed further medical attention – she finally answered his question.

"I think it was Peter," she said flatly, watching him carefully as she spoke. "There just can't be that many rats with silver paws out there."

"He's been here before," Remus conceded wearily. "It was a long time ago, but the layout of the house hasn't changed. Of course, back then, all my transformations were in the cellar." Alex caught his hand gently, and their fingers intertwined slowly and naturally. "He's the one who bit you," he concluded aloud, wondering how this could still feel like another betrayal. He saw something flash in Alex's eyes.

"Sort of my fault," she told him evenly. "After I chased him back into that hole in the wainscoting, I could have let him go. And if I hadn't tried to squeeze through myself, I wouldn't have gotten stuck and he wouldn't have had a chance to bite me. I did get in a good swipe or two before he got away, though."

"And Moony?" he prompted, shifting them around so she was leaning against him rather than facing him. She sighed a little, and let her head fall back into the crook of his shoulder.

"He wasn't happy about my being stuck there – or maybe it was the blood that set him off – but he seems to have been a little overenthusiastic in his determination to get me out. Sorry about that."

"He really didn't hurt you," Remus repeated aloud, testing the words.

"I _told_ you he wouldn't," Alex said, still with the air of someone restating the obvious an unreasonable number of times.

"Then why were you hiding under the settee?"

Alex gave a huffy little sniff. "Well, I just wanted to get a little sleep," she retorted evasively.

Remus didn't comment on the fact that this hadn't been an issue when he was taking Wolfsbane and moved on to the real question. "Why wouldn't Moony let you sleep?"

There was a long silence before Alex finally came out with it.

"He kept _licking_ me," she complained. "Every time I'd start to doze off, he'd start licking again. It's a wonder I've any fur left at all."


	34. Anniversary Presents

Remus was so focused on trying to keep Peter's latest betrayal from disturbing his equilibrium that he was completely unprepared for the questions that arose during the next meeting of the Order. He had kept the other members out of the house in order to avoid having to explain Alex – or her quite illicit status as an Animagus – however that meant that there were no other witnesses to back up his account of the events of the full moon. Even Moony's attack on the wall of the study could be attributed to the normal violence of his transformations, given the fact that someone had tampered with his Wolfsbane.

It was Severus' insistence that the tampering _had_ occurred that persuaded the doubters, as no one believed the Potions Master would perjure himself to protect someone he so obviously despised. Still, the whole discussion left Remus feeling slightly ill.

"I've still got some of that brandy left," Bill suggested quietly, standing with him as the others filed out at the end of the meeting. Remus shook his head.

"I'm not sure I'd be very good company at the moment," he managed.

"All the more reason to come," Bill said firmly, slipping a hand under Remus' elbow and discreetly steering him out of the chair and toward the door.

Remus found himself sitting in Bill's flat working on what he suspected was not his first glass of brandy when he actually spoke aloud about the meeting.

"I should have been expecting this," he said painfully. Bill's eyebrows rose.

"Why? Because it happened the first time around, or because of the werewolf thing?"

Remus grimaced, and took a larger gulp of brandy than the fine vintage spirits deserved. "Both."

"We're going to make mistakes," Bill told him, setting his own glass down and leaning forward intently. "It would be lovely to think that we will always give each other exactly the trust we deserve, know the truth when we hear it, and figure out what it means in time to act, but it's not going to happen that way. With the best will in the world, we _are_ going to bollocks it up."

"I'm not sure we can afford to," Remus countered unhappily. "There's too much at stake. If Voldemort wins – "

"He wins if we give up."

"How about if we stop trusting each other?"

Bill responded with the same gesture used to yield a point in a duel, and then picked up his glass again. "I am sorry this happened to you tonight." The regret in his voice was real, and eased Remus' discomfort enough to let him look at what had happened more objectively.

"Hestia didn't really mean anything by it," he mused aloud. "She and Sturgis were just frightened."

"And Moody's paranoia is a matter of professional pride," Bill added. "But that doesn't mean it's any less unpleasant when you're the focus."

Remus stared into his brandy snifter, swirling its contents thoughtfully. He hated the fact that he was starting to think differently about the other members of the Order – were their motivations what they appeared to be, or was one of them a traitor, trying to sow discord? With the benefit of hindsight, he could recall occasions when Peter had done this with unexpected subtlety. The amber liquid at the bottom of the glass caught his attention, and he abruptly set it down.

Bill shot him a look of inquiry, and Remus explained, "One thing I shouldn't be doing is letting this drive me to drink." Bill's lips quirked up.

"I really don't think you're in danger of drowning your sorrows in a bottle," he replied, with the first real humor to appear in his eyes all evening.

There had been a time when Remus would have thought the same thing about Sirius.

PQPQPQPQPQPQP

The brief tension between Harry and Ron had passed, although Ron did not volunteer anything about the letter or his unexpected desire to go home. While Ron certainly didn't _owe_ him an explanation, Harry was still hurt that he didn't offer one. They were supposed to be best friends. Was Harry such a horrible person that Ron couldn't just walk up to him and _tell_ him that he wanted to visit his family?

Harry saw Ron and Hermione off when the holiday arrived. Hermione had her trunk, but Ron was only carrying his knapsack.

"I'll be back very soon, Harry," Ron assured him. Harry shrugged with false indifference.

"If you don't make it back during the holidays, I suppose I'll see you when classes start up again," he said casually.

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione said reproachfully, just before she hugged him.

Ron lingered awkwardly for a moment before telling Harry, "See you soon, mate," with brisk cheer that rang falsely in Harry's ears.

"Yeah, soon," Harry managed, and turned abruptly to walk back to the tower.

Once he arrived, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. In earlier years, he had enjoyed the emptiness of the common room which gave even first years a chance to grab one of the best chairs by the fireplace. As Head Boy in his last year at the school, he didn't have the same difficulty, and the emptiness of the common room had lost its attraction.

After deciding that he didn't really want to go for a ride – or visit the prefects' bath – and that he was likely to be in a bad mood for a while, he finally hit upon the idea of getting some of his class work out of the way. His duties as Head Boy took up a surprising amount of time, and even he thought he had been scrimping on his assignments, often staying up late to pull them together the night before they were due. This wasn't going to hurt his marks directly, but it wasn't helping him prepare for his upcoming N.E.W.T.s, and those were important. He needed five E's to have a chance at being properly admitted for Auror training, and he was only planning to attempt six of them (Care of Magic Creatures, Charms, DADA, Herbology, Potions, and Transfiguration). It helped by cutting down on the number of classes, but it also meant that he couldn't afford to get less than an E on more than one of them. Without Ron – or anyone else – around to distract him, he could probably get a lot of revising done.

However miserable Harry was, Hermione would certainly be proud.

PQPQPQPQPQPQP

This year, Remus accepted the Weasleys' invitation to Christmas dinner.

He would happily have turned it down in favor of a private dinner with Alex, but he had made the mistake of inviting her to join him at the Weasleys. She had declined immediately, saying she was reluctant to intrude on a family celebration and had already made plans with Madame Marchbanks, and then the opportunity was lost. He knew Madame Marchbanks would have been happy for Alex to come – and the Weasleys would have been happy to invite the elderly examiner to join them – but he suspected that Alex was reluctant for other reasons as well. Many of the Weasleys were involved in the Order, whose members (other than Severus and Remus himself) she continued to avoid.

Her presence would certainly have sparked interest, however kindly meant, and he wondered if she felt that joining him on such an occasion would have been too public a statement that the two of them were a couple. If Alex had accepted, he knew that the Weasleys would have interpreted his request that way; it was largely why he was so certain they would grant it that he hadn't hesitated to make the suggestion to Alex before speaking to them.

Whatever her reasons for declining, he was spending Christmas Day without her, although she had promised to join him again on Boxing Day, which was some consolation.

Christmas dinner with the Weasleys was a lively meal. Remus was not the only guest; Charlie had brought along a friend from work who had no other holiday plans – and Bill had brought Fleur.

Everyone tried politely to pretend that Fleur's presence had no more significance than that of Remus, or Charlie's friend, Geoff. Ginny had come home for the holidays – Remus noted that she had chosen not to stay at Hogwarts but did not speak of it – which meant that Arthur and Molly had almost all of their children home with them. Percy had accepted an invitation to stay elsewhere – Radford was rather well placed in the Ministry – instead of spending the time with his family, but Arthur and Molly accepted this with apparent equanimity, evidently not expecting Percy to prefer the company of his family and friends to that of a contact who might be useful in advancing his career.

Some part of Remus wished he could somehow make Percy see how precious this time was – Molly's Boggart-revealed fears were all too realistic, for there was every possibility that at least one of the Weasleys already a member of the Order would be killed. They had managed to save Molly, he reminded himself firmly, and when the time came, they would find a way to save Ginny as well. But none of that meant that all the others were safe, or even that Molly and Ginny would be.

If there had been a way to convince Percy that he needed to take better care of his family while he had them, Remus would have taken it – but in light of some of the things Percy had once said to him (which Remus intended to remain forever unknown to any member of Percy's family), Remus didn't think any words of his were likely to be effective in persuading Percy of – well, anything.

Remus was very pleased when Alex arrived early on Boxing Day morning, carrying a large bag in addition to a small piece of hand luggage. Instead of her pink scarf set, she was wearing a new one of deep crimson and blue. He relieved her of her bags, immediately set them down and got the door closed so he could greet her properly.

"Happy Christmas," he said after a satisfactory interval. Then he kissed her again. "And happy anniversary." He could feel her smiling as she returned his kiss.

"I didn't know first dates had anniversaries," she teased.

"They do if they're special," he countered. "New?" he asked, tracing a finger along the hand knit scarf.

"Mmm-hmm. Madame Marchbanks gave it to me for Christmas. I think she may have sent you one too. Along with a great deal of food."

"Is that what's in the big bag?"

"And your Christmas present." Alex looked unaccountably nervous now, and Remus decided to change the subject.

"Why don't I take your bag up?" he suggested thoughtlessly, then stopped himself before he picked it up.

"Thanks," Alex replied, divesting herself of her outerwear. She noticed that he hadn't moved and glanced at him in inquiry as she folded her scarf and set it down. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just –" Remus took a deep breath. "I just wondered where you would like to stay." Alex was looking puzzled. "I mean, in what room. For sleeping, that is." Her expression changed then, and he cursed himself for making a hash of it. Sleeping together was a different intimacy than, well, "sleeping together," but maybe he was just a little too conscious of the fact that he tended to get the first as a result of the second – or perhaps the fact that she had declined the invitation for Christmas Day itself had made him overly sensitive.

"Anywhere is fine," she said, very neutrally.

"No, I didn't mean –" he ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Alex, I want you with me," he declared firmly, refusing to allow her to avoid his eyes, "whether or not we make love, which I certainly hope we will. But I'm trying not to make any assumptions here, and I want you to be comfortable, so I was just asking how I could do that. Make you comfortable, I mean."

Alex looked at him a bit tentatively. "You should be comfortable as well," she said at last. "Would you be more comfortable if I –"

"Stayed with me."

Remus waited until she nodded before he picked up her bag and carried it up to his room, concern over his misstep clouding his pleasure in the task. As often as Alex had spent the night with him, she had never brought anything with her, never assumed that her things might have a place with his – never left so much as a _toothbrush_ to mark her presence.

_Sentimental idiot, _he chided himself silently, but with a touch of humor. _Getting maudlin over the prospect of a union of the toiletries!_

When he returned to the kitchen, he was relieved to see that Alex had been putting the food from Madame Marchbanks away, and the momentary awkwardness between them seemed to have passed.

"I think she sent enough for a house party," Alex commented, handing him a loaf of tightly sealed bread. The moon was well past, so he was without the full benefit of his enhanced senses.

"Cranberry?" he guessed.

"With nuts," she confirmed, adding the last of the food to the pantry.

There were two packages still on the table, the smaller of which looked like a Christmas cracker – albeit an engorged one – while the larger was rectangular and fairly flat. "The red and green one is from Madame Marchbanks," Alex explained, meaning that the big flattish one was from her.

Remus wondered vaguely what sort of a book she had chosen for him that was so large and still fairly thin as he suggested, "Why don't we go into the study?" He was anxious to see Alex's reaction to his gift.

He had to wait a little, as Alex laughingly insisted that he at least open Madame Marchbanks present first. It proved to be a scarf and cap, beautifully hand knit in the same crimson and blue wool as Alex's, and he silently thanked her for her unspoken encouragement in giving him a set that matched Alex's.

"Now open mine," Remus asked, handing her the carefully wrapped box expectantly. Alex removed the paper and ribbon, revealing – _The Settlers of Cataan_?

Alex blinked for a moment.

Then one of the figures on the cover – a gray-bearded man in blue – turned around to look at her. "Well, open us up," he prodded, and Alex's jaw dropped.

Remus felt an enormous grin spreading across his face as he watched her reaction. Her eyes had gone wide.

"Remus, what did you _do_?" she asked.

"Look and see," he suggested, beaming at her.

Her reaction, when she did, was everything he had hoped for.

Alex was enchanted by the terrain tiles – instead of a picture of a mountain, a miniature mountain popped out of the hexagonal tile when it was set in place. Moreover, the tiles were not only enchanted individually, but also responded to the tiles around them; the mountains formed ranges, or transitioned smoothly into hills, or forest, or whatever was adjacent. Road pieces were absorbed into the tiles when played so that they looked like real carriageways – with a stripe of the appropriate player's color – and the soldiers marched along them with an audible tramping sound. When a player rolled for resource production, the game actually produced a resource – for example, a tiny shepherd appeared in the hills, rounded up the sheep, sheared them, and sent the wool to the player – rather than merely allowing the player to take a card of the correct color. The required resources came together to form improvements, and Alex's awe as she watched the formation of a settlement made all the hours of charm work well worth it for Remus.

"I can't _believe_ it," Alex kept repeating as she marveled at each new discovery.

"Wait 'til you see the robber in action," Remus boasted, well pleased. "I modeled him after Sir Cadogan!" Alex laughed, as he had intended her to.

"Remus, I don't know how to thank you – this is _wonderful_," she said, her eyes glowing as she leaned over for a brief, but tender kiss.

"I'm glad you liked it. Shall we have a game?" he suggested eagerly.

Alex cast a longing glance at the enchanted game, but demurred. "After you open your other present."

Remus had almost forgotten Alex's gift in his delight at her apparent pleasure in the game, but he nodded obligingly and set about unwrapping the large, flat box. As he pulled the last layer of paper away and saw what she had given him, he felt tears spring to his eyes.

_Oh, my god!_

He stared in shock at the painting.

Moony was in the clearing just outside the whomping willow, with the castle clearly visible in the distance. He was flanked by Padfoot and Prongs, and Remus was unaware of the tears slipping down his cheeks until Alex spoke.

"Remus, I'm so _sorry_," she was apologizing, sounding rather horrified by his reaction to her gift. "I never meant to –"

"Don't," he managed through the lump in his throat, reaching out with one arm to pull her against him, unable to lift his eyes from the sight before him. Padfoot had called Moony to play, and he watched his wolf feint playfully to the left before bounding past the big black dog on the right.

"I'll get you something else," Alex promised anxiously. "I should never have presumed –"

"I'm not _sad_, Alex," he tried to explain. He pulled her all the way into a hug, setting the picture down on the coffee table and continuing to stare at it over Alex's shoulder. "It's just the most perfect gift I could have imagined – except that I couldn't have imagined it. And you did. And you have no idea what that means to me." Alex was pulling back from him, trying to get a better look at him as if this would help her understand. He drew his eyes away from the painting long enough to let her search them. Some of her tension eased, although she still looked quite shaken.

"You're not – upset?" she asked dubiously.

"On my honor as a Marauder," he promised, then he kissed her again, trying to put everything he was feeling into the tender caress of his lips. He could feel her relaxing against him, and she looked much better when he finally raised his head.

"I'm sorry, I thought – you just –"

"You're not used to your gifts reducing the recipients to tears?" he posited.

"Something like that," she admitted, looking nervous again. "You haven't quite seen all of it yet." He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she gestured back to the painting with her eyes. "It's the same passwords as the map."

Remus pulled out his wand with a sense of anticipation. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he intoned, tapping the painting.

Nothing happened.

"You just made it like it was," Alex explained.

"Mischief managed?" he ventured, trying again, and the painted figures changed from their animal forms into human ones as the moonlight changed to sunlight. From the way Peter appeared at the corner of the canvas near a convenient bush, Remus gathered that Wormtail had been present in the first view, even if he had originally gone unnoticed.

"It's more like an animated Muggle painting than a real wizarding one, I'm afraid," Alex was telling him apologetically – and unnecessarily. Real wizarding portraits required live models at some point in the process to use the fullest extent of the charm. "And I wasn't sure whether to include Peter, but I thought –"

"He was part of us then, and he should be there," Remus told her absently, watching teenage forms of James and Sirius make faces at each other. "You did just right." He was still marveling at what a thoughtful gift she had given him – and enjoying the feel of her warmth tucked safely within his arms – when another thought occurred to him.

"_How_ did you do it?" he asked suddenly. "You've never seen us like that."

"Hermione," she said immediately. "She borrowed pictures from Harry for the human part, and she'd seen three of your alternate forms. The only one we were worried about was James' stag – she knew the shape and size from Harry's Patronus, but we had to guess on the coloring. The artist will fix it if you tell him what it's supposed to look like – his shop is in Hogsmeade, and it's already taken care of, you just have to bring it by – but I couldn't think of any way to find out without asking you, so we just had him guess to start with."

"_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_," Remus chanted almost absently, more interested in studying Prongs when the stag reappeared in the moonlight. "It's really pretty close," he said reflectively. "There was a bit of white just there," he told her, pointing, "and another there, near where Harry's scar would be. I don't think I ever thought about that before." He nuzzled her a bit closer.

"Thank you for bringing them back to me."


End file.
